t seen the light of day, and most of whom
earnestly longed for a drink. The landlord, hearing the hilarity, had
taken advantage of the opportunity offered to see a free show. Not being
able to see what the occasion was for the mirth, he had pulled on his
boots and made his way to the show with a flapjack in the skillets
which, in his haste, he had forgotten to put down. He felt sure that he
would be entertained, and he was not disappointed. He rounded the corner
and was enthusiastically welcomed by the hungry Mr. Connors, whose
ubiquitous guns coaxed from the skillet its dyspeptic wad.

"Th' saints be praised!" ejaculated Mr. Connors as a matter of form,
not having a very clear idea of just what saints were, but he knew what
flapjacks were and greedily overcame the heroic resistance of the one
provided by chance and his own guns. As he rolled his eyes in ecstatic
content the very man Mr. Cassidy had warned him against suddenly arose
and in great haste disappeared around the corner of the corral, from
which point of vantage he vented his displeasure at the treatment he had
received by wasting six shots at the mortified Mr. Connors.

"Steady!" sang out that gentleman as the line-up wavered. "He's
a precedent to hell for yu fellers! Don't yu get ambitious, none
whatever." Then he wondered how long it would take the fugitive to
secure a rifle and return to release the others by drilling him at long
range.

His thoughts were interrupted by the vision of a red head that climbed
into view over a rise a short distance off and he grinned his delight as
Mr. Cassidy loomed up, jaunty and triumphant. Mr. Cassidy was executing
calisthenics with a Colt in the rear of Mr. Travennes' neck and was
leading the horses.

Mr. Connors waved the skillet and his friend grinned his congratulations
at what the token signified.

"I see yu got some more," said Mr. Cassidy, as he went down the line-up
from the rear and collected nineteen weapons of various makes and
conditions, this number being explained by the fact that all but one of
the prisoners wore two. Then he added the five that had kicked against
his ribs ever since he had left the hut, and carefully threaded the end
of his lariat through the trigger guards.

"Looks like we stuck up a government supply mule, Red," he remarked,
as he fastened the whole collection to his saddle. "Fourteen colts, six
Merwin-Hulbert's, three Prescott, an' one puzzle," he added, examining
the puzzle. "M