“P'r'aps so,” Charley resumed, “but I was sick of the whole crowd. I sold off, and lit out. When I got on the new stage-coach, fifty miles from Laramie, and didn't know the driver or any one, I made up my mind to start fresh. Then and there I resolved that I had eaten all the crow I was going to eat; the others should eat crow now, and if there was any jumpin' to be done, I'd do it, whatever it cost. And so I went for Bent right off. I didn't want to wait. 'Here's more crow,' I thought, 'but I won't eat it; he shall, if I die for it,' and I just threw him out quick.” “I see,” said Crocker, with a certain sympathy in his voice, “but you oughter hev waited. You oughter make up to wait from this on, Charley. 'Tain't hard. You don't need to take anythin' and set under it. I'm not advisin' that, but it's stronger to wait before you go fer any one. The boys,” he added significantly, “don't like a man to bounce, and what they don't like is pretty hard to do.” “Damn the boys,” exclaimed Charley vehemently, “they're all alike out here. I can't act different. If I waited, I might wait too long--too long, d'you _sabe?_ I just can't trust myself,” he added in a subdued tone. “No,” replied Crocker meditatively. “No, p'r'aps not. But see here, Charley, I kinder like you, and so I tell you, no one can bounce the crowd here in Garotte. They're the worst crowd you ever struck in your life. Garotte's known for hard cases. Why,” he went on earnestly, as if he had suddenly become conscious of the fact, “the other night Reggitt and a lot came mighty near goin' fer you--and Harrison, Harrison took up what you said. You didn't notice, I guess; and p'r'aps 'twas well you didn't; but you hadn't much to spare. You won by the odd card. “No one can bounce this camp. They've come from everywhere, and can only jes' get a livin' here--no more. And when luck's bad they're”--and he paused as if no adjective were strong enough. “If a man was steel, and the best and quickest on the draw ever seen, I guess they'd bury him if he played your way.” “Then they may bury me,” retorted Charley bitterly, “but I've eaten my share of crow. I ain't goin' to eat any more. Can't go East now with the taste of it in my mouth. I'd rather they buried me.” And they did bury him--about a fortnight after. July, 1892. THE BEST MAN IN GAROTTE.