pair of high riding-boots fitted with dainty silver spurs. Grabbing his headgear with one hand, he looked up into the charming but rather scornful face of the wearer.
'I'm right sorry, ma'am,' he stammered, and drew up his long legs so that she might proceed on her way.
Instead of doing so she stood still, and a gleam of pity shone in her deep brown eyes as she noted the empty belt. Drunken punchers she had seen before, but this one was so young--not over twenty-five, she reflected, little more than a boy. She herself was nearing twenty. He had the slim waist and broad shoulders of an athlete, and his face showed no traces of dissipation. On the contrary, it was a strong face, she decided, and not unattractive, despite its unshaven condition; the lean, square jaw and level eyes bespoke determination above the ordinary; there were possibilities in such a man.
'Aren't you ashamed of yourself?' she asked, after an awkward pause.
'I shore am, ma'am,' drawled the culprit. 'Blockin' the trail thisaway is certainly scand'lous.'
Sitting there, hugging his knees, a grin on his upturned face, he looked like a mischievous youngster. She had hard work not to smile, but instead she said reprovingly:
'I wasn't referring to that. I meant for being--' She paused confusedly.
'Drunk,' he assisted, and the engaging grin was again evident. 'Don't yu mind my feelin's--the barkeep inside didn't when he threw me out on my ear, though I've spent near enough in there the last two-three days to buy the hull shebang. Drink is a shore deceiver; it lifts a fella up, but it sets him down again mighty hard.'
'Knowing that, then why do you do it?' she naturally asked.
'Yu got me guessin',' he smiled. 'I reckon men is like hosses--even the steadiest will buck once in a while, sorta temp'rary rebellion 'gainst the thusness o' things, yu sabe? Now I've put up my kick, I'll get me a job an' be a respectable citizen for a piece.'
She had a suspicion that he was amusing himself, and her next remark was a little ironical.
'Oh, you do work?'
'Shorely,' he grinned. 'I got a healthy appetite to provide for.'
She smiled too at this, and then, as she glanced down the street, he saw a little more colour steal into her cheeks. A tall, rather carefully-clad young cowpuncher was swinging along towards them. The girl prepared to depart.
'If you come to the Double S my uncle might be able to use you,' she said.
'I'm obliged to you,' the man said. 'If I don't get the job I'm after, I'll shore remember that.'
With a little nod she went on her way and his eyes followed her with a gleam of admiration. The new-comer's greeting was an elaborate sweep of his sombrero, and after chatting for a moment, they turned and went along the street together.
'She's certainly soothin' to the sight,' the prostrate puncher murmured. 'An' it looks like yu may be lucky, Mister Man, whoever yu are. She'll be Miss Antonia Sarel, o' course.'
The door of the saloon opened, the posse from Sweetwater came out, and, humorously bewailing their fate, took saddle again. The sheriff followed their example, after one contemptuous glance at the hunched-up figure on the sidewalk. The latter watched until the visitors, with a shrill cowboy yell, vanished in a cloud of dust.
'Good huntin', sheriff,' he muttered, for through the open window of the saloon he had heard the story of the stage robbery. 'Wonder what yu'd 'a' said if I'd claimed to be Sudden? Called me a liar, I betcha, seein' I was in the Red Ace when the hold-up happened. But it would 'a' been the sober truth alla-same, though I ain't the man yo're lookin' for; he's Sudden the Second, an' I'm hopin' to meet him my own self.' He climbed unsteadily to his feet, staggered round the corner of the building, and straightened up. 'Guess I got this burg thinkin' what I want it to, but We'll play the hand right out,' he continued. 'Mebbe that jasper is still hankerin' for my hoss.'
Dropping his shoulders, he lurched away to the corral behind the saloon. Here he found a short, stocky rancher saddling a horse, and studying the other animals in the enclosure. One of them, a big, rangy, black mustang seemed to get most of his attention. He looked up as the cowpuncher approached.
'Changed yore mind 'bout sellin'?' he asked, with a twinkle in his good-humoured eyes.
'Nope, but I'll gamble with yu,' the puncher replied. 'Yu put up fifty bucks agin the hoss an' we'll cut the cards--highest wins. What yu say?'
The rancher considered the proposition for a moment. He was a lover of horses, and he wanted the animal, but Andrew Bordene, of the Box B ranch, was a man of slow decisions. Cheap as good horseflesh was, he knew the black was worth twice the figure named. To give himself time, he asked a question:
'I don't know the brand. Where'd yu get him?'
'From a fella who catched him in Texas. I took him wild, broke him myself, an' branded him J. G.--my name bein' James Green,' the cowpuncher told him. 'Nigger is a good hoss.'
He whistled, and the black came trotting to the corral bars and rubbed his velvety muzzle against his master's outstretched hand. Bordene hesitated no longer; he liked a gamble, and this was all in his favour. Still, if the puncher wanted the money...
'I'll go yu,' he said, and diving into a pocket, produced a pack of cards.
The puncher shuffled them carelessly and held them out for his opponent to cut. Bordene's card was the knave of diamonds; Green cut the ten of hearts.
'I lose,' he said, with a cheerful grin. 'Say, I got a saddle an' bridle that set me back a hundred and twenty in Tucson not too long ago. I'll put 'em up against the hoss if you're willin'?'
The rancher nodded, shuffled, and proffered the pack. A look of relief appeared on the puncher's face when he turned up the queen of spades, only to vanish again when Bordene showed the king of diamonds. Nevertheless, he laughed.
'That busts me wide open,' he said, and then, 'No, it don't, mebbe. See here, the round-up'll be comin' along an' yu'll want more help. I'll stake two months o' my time against the saddle an' bridle. I know cattle.'
Bordene looked at him in surprise, almost suspecting a jest; but though the puncher was grinning he was quite in earnest. Somehow, the rancher's heart warmed to this gay loser.
'I'm trustin' yu--like yu did me,' he responded. 'That deck might 'a' been phony.'
'Shucks!' was the reply. 'I know a white man when I see one.'
The play was resumed. The puncher won the first cut, lost the next, and then won the two following, thus regaining both saddle and horse. He looked quizzically at his opponent.
'We ain't got nowhere,' he remarked. 'One more flip, fifty cash against the hoss, to finish it.'
He cut and displayed the three of spades.
'Poor luck, friend,' said the older man. 'I'm thinkin' yu've lost yore mount.'
With a grin of commiseration and confident of success he exposed his own card. His face changed with ludicrous rapidity as he saw it: he had cut the two of spades.
'Well, may I be teetotally damned if yu don't win!' he cried regretfully, and then his eyes twinkled. 'No matter. I like the way yu play, an' if yo're huntin' a job in these parts come an' see me at the Box B.'
'I certainly will, seh,' the cowpuncher smiled. 'I like the way yu lose.'
He took the money the other tendered and waved a farewell as the rancher swung into the saddle and loped for the trail. Then he smiled contentedly. He knew the story would get around, and that he would be regarded as a stray puncher, who, having overdone his spree, had to risk losing his horse to rehabilitate himself.
'Reckon that will blind my tracks aplenty,' he muttered, and made his way to the Red Ace.
The saloon was empty, save for the bartender, whose face at once assumed a surly expression when he recognized the visitor. Green walked to the bar, slammed down a twenty-dollar gold piece, and said sharply:
'Gimme my guns.'
With some uneasiness of mind, Jude produced the pawned weapons--two forty-fives, the almost black walnut butts of which showed signs of much use.
'Whisky,' came the next order, as the cowboy, examining the guns to make sure they were still loaded, thrust them into his holsters.
Jude pushed forward bottle and glass, concealing his satisfaction. The fellow would get soaked again and the guns would soon return behind the bar. He knew these range-riders; if they had a taste for liquor they would spend their last peso to satisfy it. With a saturnine smile he watched the customer pour his drink and raise the glass to his nose. Then the spirit was coolly tipped out on the sanded floor.
'Hey, yu, what's the matter with my whisky?' asked the astonished and outraged supplier of the drink.
