It was an unusual occurrence for Johnson to come at night to the bar-lounge, which was beginning to fall into disrepute among the puritanical or middle-class section of the community. No one, however, seemed to pay any further attention to him or to remark the unusual cordiality of Martin's greeting. A quarter of an hour elapsed before anything of note occurred. Then, an elderly man whom I did not know, a farmer, by his dress, drew a copy of the “Kiota Tribune” from his pocket, and, stretching it towards Johnson, asked with a very marked Yankee twang: “Sheriff, hev yeou read this 'Tribune'?” Wheeling half round towards his questioner, the Sheriff replied: “Yes, sir, I hev.” A pause ensued, which was made significant to me by the fact that the bar-keeper suspended his hand and did not pour out the whisky he had just been asked to supply--a pause during which the two faced each other; it was broken by the farmer saying: “Ez yeou wer out of town to-day, I allowed yeou might hev missed seein' it. I reckoned yeou'd come straight hyar before yeou went to hum.” “No, Crosskey,” rejoined the Sheriff, with slow emphasis; “I went home first and came on hyar to see the boys.” “Wall,” said Mr. Crosskey, as it seemed to me, half apologetically, “knowin' yeou I guessed yeou ought to hear the facks,” then, with some suddenness, stretching out his hand, he added, “I hev some way to go, an' my old woman 'ull be waitin' up fer me. Good night, Sheriff.” The hands met while the Sheriff nodded: “Good night, Jim.” After a few greetings to right and left Mr. Crosskey left the bar. The crowd went on smoking, chewing, and drinking, but the sense of expectancy was still in the air, and the seriousness seemed, if anything, to have increased. Five or ten minutes may have passed when a man named Reid, who had run for the post of Sub-Sheriff the year before, and had failed to beat Johnson's nominee Jarvis, rose from his chair and asked abruptly: “Sheriff, do you reckon to take any of us uns with you to-morrow?” With an indefinable ring of sarcasm in his negligent tone, the Sheriff answered: “I guess not, Mr. Reid.” Quickly Reid replied: “Then I reckon there's no use in us stayin';” and turning to a small knot of men among whom he had been sitting, he added, “Let's go, boys!” The men got up and filed out after their leader without greeting the Sheriff in any way. With the departure of this group the shadow lifted. Those who still remained showed in manner a marked relief, and a moment or two later a man named Morris, whom I knew to be a gambler by profession, called out lightly: “The crowd and you'll drink with me, Sheriff, I hope? I want another glass, and then we won't keep you up any longer, for you ought to have a night's rest with to-morrow's work before you.”