“My hat’s ruined, too,” complained Slim ruefully. “That —— bear done his war-dance on it and then some of these heavy-heeled cow-persons walked all over it. They’re so —— ignorant that they don’t know what a hat is, ’less it’s on somebody’s head.” * * * * * Baldy Malloy headed straight toward his own shack, going down the main street, clinging tightly to Whizzer, who was willing to ride, even if he did not understand what it was all about. As they came past McGill’s saloon, McGill, a portly, hard-faced man, stopped them and asked Baldy what had caused all the excitement up the street. There were three other men with McGill. “Didn’t yuh see it?” asked Baldy hoarsely. “Wouldn’t ask you, if we did?” growled McGill. “We was playin’ poker and heard them shots fired.” Baldy stood the boy up on the sidewalk while he hastily sketched out what had been done. “And he rode that bear, straight-up, made him let go of Whizzer, and then killed the bear with his six-gun,” finished Baldy. McGill spat thoughtfully and squinted at the three men in the doorway. “Made a hero out of himself right in front of a crowd,” said McGill sarcastically. “Pretty —— good advertisin’, eh?” McGill laughed hoarsely and turned to Baldy, just in time to receive Baldy’s right fist square in his nose; and the fist had every ounce of weight and strength that Baldy possessed behind it. Baldy’s one punch was sufficient. McGill fell into his own doorway, his shoulders striking the edge of the step and the back of his head fairly bouncing off the floor. None of the three men made any move to assist McGill. Baldy blew on his bruised knuckles, picked Whizzer off the sidewalk, and went on toward his own shack. McGill recovered sufficiently to get back on his feet, spat out a tooth, along with a weird assortment of profanity, and went back into the saloon to try and find out, with the aid of a mirror, just why his nose seemed so out of proportion to the rest of his face. “You touched Baldy on a tender spot, Mac,” said one of the men. “Yuh see, Brick Davidson jist saved Baldy’s kid.” “All right,” growled McGill, like a man suffering from a heavy cold. “There can’t nobody hit me and get away with it.” “As far as Baldy is concerned, you better let things go as they lie,” advised one of the men. “Yeah, I s’pose,” said McGill darkly, squinting at himself in the mirror. “Didja ever see a nose like that? And I lost a good tooth, too.” Brick accepted several drinks, along with the adulations of the crowd. Every one had a different version of the affair, and Brick knew that inside of an hour there would be a dozen men who would swear that he had killed at least fifty grizzly bears single-handed. Slim Hunter had reached the crying stage—sobbing over the ruination of his new sombrero; so Brick managed to sneak out during a heated argument. Across the street, in a general store, he encountered Soapy Caswell and Sam Leach.