“Well, I'll be gol-darned,” said Taylor, surveying his costume, “if Lin McLean hasn't made a fool of me to-night!” “Where has Tommy got?” said Mrs. Taylor. “Didn't yus see him?” said the biscuit-shooter speaking her first word in all this. We followed her into the kitchen. The table was covered with tin plates. Beneath it, wedged knelt Tommy with a pistol firm in his hand; but the plates were rattling up and down like castanets. There was a silence among us, and I wondered what we were going to do. “Well,” murmured the Virginian to himself, “if I could have foresaw, I'd not--it makes yu' feel humiliated yu'self.” He marched out, got on his horse, and rode away. Lin followed him, but perhaps less penitently. We all dispersed without saying anything, and presently from my blankets I saw poor Tommy come out of the silent cabin, mount, and slowly, very slowly, ride away. He would spend the night at Riverside, after all. Of course we recovered from our unexpected shame, and the tale of the table and the dancing plates was not told as a sad one. But it is a sad one when you think of it. I was not there to see Lin get his bride. I learned from the Virginian how the victorious puncher had ridden away across the sunny sagebrush, bearing the biscuit-shooter with him to the nearest justice of the peace. She was astride the horse he had brought for her. “Yes, he beat Tommy,” said the Virginian. “Some folks, anyway, get what they want in this hyeh world.” From which I inferred that Miss Molly Wood was harder to beat than Tommy. LIN McLEAN'S HONEY-MOON