“If it was thim ’ud die,” said Stumpy, gloomily. “An’ Hennessy. We c’d do widout Hennessy an’ wan or more others. But I do be thinkin’ Long Mike is off again.” “Looks like it,” said Sam. Just then the report of a pistol-shot rang [Illustration: “JUST THEN THE REPORT OF A PISTOL-SHOT RANG OUT.”] out, and Peter leaped in the air. He was not hurt, but the bullet had struck between his fore paws, and he was frightened. Stumpy turned like a flash. The two strangers were approaching, laughing heartily, and one of them was about to shoot again. Stumpy was a small man, probably a foot shorter than either of the newcomers, but his hair was very red. He sprang to his feet. “That’s my dog,” he said, pulling off his coat, and the man who was poising his revolver lowered it. “No offence, friend,” he said, pleasantly. “I just wanted to see the dog dance.” “Dance, is it?” shouted Stumpy, in a fine rage. “That dog’s no circus. If it’s dancin’ ye want, I’ll dance, but it’s on your ugly face it’ll be, wid you on the flat o’ your back.” And he squared off in excellent style. “There, there,” said the big man, soothingly, “I’ll not fight you, and I’ll not bother your dog, if it’s yours. Come and have a drink.” It was not easy to placate the little Irishman, but the two strangers finally accomplished it, and the entire party went over to the barroom. Peter, however, refused to enter the place, and showed his teeth viciously when the sportive pistol-player, whose name was Carruthers, offered to pat his head by way of apology. As the day wore on, the male population of Brownsville, one by one, appeared in the barroom, and Carruthers and his mate, Hopper, played the part of hosts with great assiduity, so that the general condition of hilarity that had prevailed on Saturday night, but which had been greatly modified in the early morning hours, was fully reëstablished before nightfall. The two men told about themselves without reserve, and there seemed to be no reason to doubt their story. They were sports, they said, frankly, it being fully understood that the word sport was a mere euphemism for professional gambler, and, having “made a killing” in La Crosse a few days before, they were enjoying a trip down the river with the ultimate purpose of getting into a big game at Vicksburg or New Orleans. Things being too slow to suit them on the boat on which they started, they had stopped off at the first landing-place to wait for another. Being thus in Brownsville, they proposed to enjoy themselves as heartily as possible, so what was the matter with all hands having another drink?