By this time it was nearly nine o'clock, but a light shone in the Greiffenhagen parlour. As the young men dismounted and hitched their horses to the fence, the strains from an American organ were heard. Pete rapped upon the door, which was opened by Greiffenhagen. He kept the village store, which was also the post-office, and, although German himself, had married an American wife. Pete said in a loud voice-- "It's kind o' late, but this is a P.P.C. call." As he spoke, there was wafted to the nostrils of Greiffenhagen the familiar fragrance of Bourbon. He glanced at Dan and Jimmie. Each appeared almost abnormally sober and solemn. At this moment Miss Mary Willing flitted up. "Why, it's Mr. Holloway!" she exclaimed stiffly. The three entered. As they passed the threshold, Jimmie stumbled, but recovered himself. He saluted the ladies with decorum, and the three sat down upon the edge of the chairs that were offered to them. Then Miss Edna Parkinson, who was the only person present besides Pete who understood what was meant by a P.P.C. call, and who knew also that, the big _rodeo_ being over, it was possible that the three cowboys had been discharged, said sympathetically-- "You ain't leaving these parts, are you?" Pete answered grimly: "It's more'n likely that we air." Edna glanced at Mamie, who was sniffing. "What is it I smell?" she asked. "Medicine," said Dan. He knew that Pete, the walking dictionary, could be trusted to break the appalling news to these unhappy girls. He glanced at Mr. Holloway and nodded. "Yes," said Pete, "you smell medicine. It was prescribed by the distinguished surgeon an' pathologist, Perfessor Adam Chawner." "Prescribed? Why?" Once, in the dear dead days that were gone, Pete had owned a best girl, who had treated him ill. Ever since he had exhibited a not too chivalrous desire to "git even" with the fond but fickle sex. Also he had no respect for the W.C.T.U. "The trouble come o' drinkin' too much water." "Too much water?" "We three hev bin wallerin' at a pizoned spring. The Perfessor may pull us through, but it's no cert. Much the contrairy. Likely as not you'll be attendin' our funerals within' the week. Dan and Jimmie tuk a notion that they'd like to forgive ye, an' I come along too because I reckon misery loves company. But I made this stippilation--no huggin' before me, if you please." "Is he--d-d-drunk?" faltered Edna. "I'm nearly drunk," said Pete. "This yere pizon is same as rattlesnake pizon. We've got to be kep' filled plum up with whisky." He produced his bottle and placed it carefully upon the floor, then he added: "When I can't help myself, I count on you, old man"--he looked at Greiffenhagen--"to pour it down my throat." "Dan," said Miss Willing, "can't you say something?" "I'm razzle-dazzled," said Dan. "But I couldn't die without forgivin' yer." "Edna," said Jimmie, with a sob in his voice, "I have no hard feelin's left."