“Yeah, I’m the nephew of Ol’ Hank Farley, who didn’t have a chance for his white chip. You paid for his funeral and preached it. I’m much obliged to yuh.” Then Irish Delaney turned and the crowd gave him room to walk out. He paid no attention to them as he walked slowly through the barroom and went outside. After a few moments, the minister followed him. No one mentioned Irish Delaney. Slim Duarte turned from the roulette layout and his eyes met those of Jim Corwin, the sheriff. Corwin was tall, slightly gray, with a deep-lined face, small eyes and a wide mouth. He had been sheriff of Dancing Flats for twelve years. Irish Delaney had left Dancing Flats seven years ago, but there were men in the crowd who had been in Dancing Flats the day Irish Delaney rode away. Jim Corwin’s eyes flashed across the faces of the crowd, before he walked away. Duarte spoke to a gambler, and the games were opened. Almost seven years to the day since Irish Delaney rode away on a long-legged sorrel gelding. Irish was partial to long-legged sorrels. Some said it was the only color that nearly matched his own hair. Irish had been a wild-riding kid, cold-jawed, but laughing. He had started building up his own herd. He was nineteen then--an orphan--living with his uncle, Hank Farley, who owned the 74 spread east of Dancing Flats. Irish loved Nell Shearer, daughter of Ed Shearer, who owned the Lazy S, but Ed Shearer did not want Irish Delaney as a son-in-law. Irish Delaney cared little for Ed Shearer’s likes and dislikes, and Ed Shearer knew it, but fate stepped in to help the cause of Ed Shearer. A dance-hall girl, young and rather pretty, went for a horseback ride alone and was thrown in the desert, several miles from Dancing Flats. Fate sent Irish Delaney across that same stretch of country, and Irish found her, injured and trying to find her way home. An hour later Irish Delaney rode into Dancing Flats, with the young lady in his arms. She couldn’t sit down, because of cactus. Nell Shearer happened to be in town--and saw them arrive. Irish was laughing over it, and carried the girl into the Turquoise. This incident was grist for Ed Shearer’s mill, and he made the most of it. Two days later Irish Delaney rode into Dancing Flats, drew out all the money he had in the little bank and went over to the Turquoise Saloon. Slim Duarte had laughingly made the remark that he expected to have to hire a new soprano, intimating that Irish was in love with the dance-hall girl. Irish heard about the remark. He was leaving Dancing Flats today. Old Hank Farley said nothing. Advice was not what Irish Delaney wanted--he’d do as he pleased. Irish didn’t like Jim Corwin, the sheriff, either. Irish sat into a draw poker game, where Slim Duarte was running the play, and told the suave gambler to kick the roof off the house. It was a five-handed game, but quickly slid to two-handed. Jim Corwin was in the saloon, watching Irish Delaney, while Irish watched Slim Duarte.