"Make way!" cried Juan and as the crowd parted before him he went staggering down the street. A few shiny dollars heaped high on the top, fell off and were picked up by his friends. They went off together, Old Juan and his amigos, and L. W. came over to Rimrock. "Now listen to me, Henry Jones," he began; but Rimrock waved him away. "I don't need to," he said, "I know what you'll say--but Juan there has been my friend." "Well, you don't need to spoil him--to break his back with money--when ten dollars will do just as well." "Yes, I do!" said Rimrock, "didn't I borrow his picked rock? Well, keep out then; I know my friends. He'll be drunk for a month and at the end of his fiesta he won't have a dollar to his name, but as long as he lives he can tell the other hombres about that big sack of money he had." Rimrock laid down one big bill, which paid for all the dollars, and walked out of the bank on air. He was feeling rich--that wealthy feeling that penny-pinchers never know--and all the world, except L. W. Lockhart, seemed responsive to his smile. Men who had shunned him for years now shook his hand and refused to take back what they had lent. They even claimed they had forgotten all about it or had intended their loans as stakes. With his pockets full of money it was suddenly impossible for Rimrock to spend a dollar. In the Alamo Saloon, where his friends were all gathered in a determined assault on the bar, his popularity was so intense that the drinks fairly jumped at him and he slipped out the back way to escape. There was one duty more--both a duty and a pleasure--and he headed for the Gunsight Hotel. The news of his success, whatever it was, had preceded him hours before. Andrew McBain had hid out, the idle women were all a-twitter; but Mary Roget Fortune was calm. She had heard the news from the very first moment, when L. W. had dropped in on McBain; but the more she heard of his riotous prodigality the more it left her cold. His return to town reminded her painfully of that other time when he had come. She had watched for him then, her knight from the desert, worn and ragged but with his sack full of gold; but he had passed her by without a word, and now she did not care. She looked up sharply as he came at last, a huge form, half-blocking the door; and Rimrock noticed the change. Perhaps his sudden popularity had made him unduly sensitive--he felt instinctively that she did not approve. "Do you mind my cigar?" he asked, stopping awkwardly half way to her desk; and he suddenly came to life as she answered: "Why, yes. Since you ask me, I do."