“I been thinking over a lot of things this afternoon,” he continued, “and I remembered that whenever Ring thought it was his duty to go and tell somebody something, he went and did it, regardless of what might come after. That’s why I got to thinking it my duty to come and tell you, and it’s all I could think of to make myself feel that I was as good as him in some ways. I think if he lives, he’d like me a little better for it, and if he dies, well--maybe he’ll know and appreciate what I feel, anyhow. So that’s that. I’m telling you this so that if you’ve got any grudge against him, you’ll kind of square the books by giving him credit for making a good finish on your account. For he fought well!” The proprietress of the Alamo sat apparently unmoved, emotionless, unblinking, and watching him with her direct, inscrutable stare while he talked. In that recital of his, there had been nothing of that circumlocution which he was wont to practice when he considered it wise, and which had earned him his new sobriquet. He had told her all of the episode, its results and his motives for telling, in one terse speech. There was no need to ask questions, or if so she seemed to neglect them. “Much obliged for telling me,” she said, and turned to give attention to the changing of a bill. When she had made the change, he was walking out through the door, his broad, square shoulders swinging heavily as if wearied by long effort. “Tom!” she called sharply to her head bartender. “Tom, you look after this thing here. I--I don’t feel very good. I’m--I’m going out to-night and--I’m not coming back.” And the head barman, astounded by any sign of weakness in this employer of his, was still blinking when she walked into her little private office in front of the building, slowly entered and slowly closed the door behind her. It was three weeks later when Circumlocutory Smith rode into Georgeville. He had taken a direct trail that had not necessitated a ride through his beloved camp of Murdock, and felt slightly ashamed of his solicitude, a sentiment that he felt was rather womanish, not at all what a man should really feel about anybody; but--Ring had been pretty badly manhandled, and--also, he’d taken Ring to that hospital and said he’d be responsible for all bills, and--a man ought to pay his bills when they came due and maybe hospitals wanted their money every week and---- Hang it all---- How was that boy coming along, anyhow? Was he going to pull through? And if not--well--some of those murderers over there in Placer would have cause to remember him, Trigger Smith, if young Ring didn’t pull through. They would! You could bet on that! Damn ’em! * * * * *