ring of
the others and told him about Spikes Weber. Irish merely swore. After
that, Weary told him about Spikes Weber's wife, in secret fear and with
much tact, but in grim detail. Irish listened with never a word to say.

"I done what looked to me the best thing, under the circumstances,"
Weary apologized at the last, "and I hope I haven't mixed yuh up a
bunch uh trouble. Mamma mine! she's sure on the fight, though, and
she's got a large, black opinion of yuh as a constant lover. If yuh
want to square yourself with her, Irish, you've got a big contract."

"I don't want to square myself," Irish retorted, grinning a bit. "I
did have it bad, I admit; but when she went and got tied up to Spikes,
that cured me right off. She's kinda pretty, and girls were scarce,
and--oh, hell! you know how it goes with a man. I'd a married her and
found out afterwards that her mind was like a little paper windmill
stuck up on the gatepost with a shingle nail--only she saved me the
trouble. Uh course, I was some sore over the deal for awhile; but I
made up my mind long ago that Spikes was the only one in the bunch that
had any sympathy coming. If he's been acting up like you say, I change
the verdict: there ain't anything coming to him but a big bunch uh
trouble. I'm much obliged to yuh, Weary; you done me a good turn and
earnt a lot uh gratitude, which is yours for keeps. Wonder if supper
ain't about due; I've the appetite of a Billy goat, if anybody should
ask yuh."

At supper Irish was uncommonly silent, and did some things without
thinking; such as pouring a generous stream of condensed cream into his
coffee. Weary, knowing well that Irish drank his coffee without cream,
watched him a bit closer than he would otherwise have done; Irish was
the sort of man who does not always act by rule.

After supper Weary missed him quite suddenly, and went to the door of
the bunk-house to see where he had gone. He did not see Irish, but on
a hilltop, in the trail that led to Sleepy Trail, he saw a flurry of
dust. Two minutes of watching saw it drift out of sight over the hill,
which proved that the maker was traveling rapidly away from the ranch.
Weary settled his hat down to his eyebrows and went out to find the
foreman.

The foreman, down at the stable, said that Irish had borrowed a horse
from him, unsacked his saddle as if he were in a hurry about something,
and had pulled out on a high lope. No, he had not told the foreman