"Poor woman! Will you give her that?--not now, but when she goes out, Mr. Kearney." He slipped a silver dollar into the landlord's hand. "No need to tell her where it came from. I'll be going along now, I think, to have a look at the town. I'll be back for supper." "Good luck to you!" Tim had not left the hotel a hundred yards behind him when he met a Catholic priest. "Good afternoon, Father," said Tim, and raised his hat. "Good afternoon, sir. And is it"--the cane was shifted from the right hand to the left, and the hand thus freed extended to Tim--"Mr. Riley--isn't it?" "It is; but how did you know, Father?" "Oh, if Peter Kearney's long-legged Dinnie hasn't told half the quarries before this of your name and business 'twill be because he's burst a tire or broke his neck rolling down the steep hills. And so you're to speak to us to-night?" "God willing, I am." "And you're not discouraged?" "And why should I be discouraged?" "Why? You must be a stranger to these parts." "I am." "And no one told you of what happened to the last man your party sent here?" "They did not. And what happened?" "He was rode out of town on a rail." "Well, well, Father. And what did he do, the poor man?" "Oh, he only hinted at first that we were a lot of ignorant foreigners who were Democrats because we didn't know any better; but he warmed up as he went along. I don't know wherever they got him from. In the middle of it Buck Malone gave them what they call his high sign--his right forefinger raised so--and every man in the hall got up and walked out. A few of them came back later and took him off. They didn't hurt him--no bones broken or anything like that; but they do say he never waited for the train when they turned him loose, but legged the thirty miles back to the city without a single stop!" "He did? Well, it's fine exercise, Father--running; though thirty miles in one bite, to be sure, is a bit too much for good digestion, I'd say. This Buck Malone--he's the boss here, Father?" "He is. And a famous one for surprising folks." "Thank you for the information, Father." "It's no information. The very babies here know of the last man here. If you see the children in the street smiling slylike when you pass, that will be why." Tim pulled his lower lip with thumb and forefinger. "And yet they'd laugh all the louder if I was to go away without speaking, Father. What kind is Buck Malone to look at and where does he hang out?" The priest poked the end of his cane at Tim's chest. "Is it fighting you'd be at, Mr. Riley?" "It is not. I'm not for fighting--unless, of course, I have to. Isn't it only natural to want to know what kind your opponent is?"