“No, she is still at the schoolhouse, Harp. She won’t be home until after four o’clock.” “Uh-huh.” Harp shifted his feet nervously. “There’s goin’ to be a dance at Silverton next Friday.” “So I heard.” “Yuh did? Who told yuh, Mrs. Wesson?” “Why, Sam Leach was here kinda early this mornin’ to ask Miss Miller to go with him.” “Oh, yeah,” said Harp in a far-away voice, “Uh-huh. We-ell, I reckon they’ll have a real nice dance. Much obliged, Mrs. Wesson.” “I’m makin’ some doughnuts,” offered Mrs. Wesson, knowing Harp’s fondness for such delicacies. But this was one time when Harp’s sweet tooth had turned sour. “Just as much obliged,” he said painfully. “I’ve been havin’ a touch of inde-jest-shun. Mebbe next time, thank yuh. Nice weather we’re havin’, Mrs. Wesson. Well, I’ll be jiggin’ along.” Mrs. Wesson stood in the doorway and watched Harp go back to the street, walking dejectedly. She tried to laugh, was a failure; so she went back to her kettle. Harp went back to the street and headed for the Dollar Down. His soul was sore within him and he needed a bracer. Slim Hunter had given the bartender one of the notices to put on the back-bar, and Harp gazed upon it with sad eyes. “Drinkin’ anythin’?” queried Slim. “Yeah—anythin’,” replied Harp sadly. “My stummick is kinda antegodlin’, and mebbe a shot or two will fix her up.” They had a drink on Slim, one on Harp and then the bartender opened his heart enough to shove out the glasses. After these three drinks, Slim began to dilate upon the wonders of the coming dance. “Naw, I don’t want to listen to it,” declared Harp sadly. “If you’ve got any tale of sufferin’—tell it to me, Slimmie. My soul is in the slough of despond. Stummick trouble sure does paint things blue.” “You ought to do somethin’ about it,” stated Slim. “Feller like you ain’t got none too many insides; so yuh got to protect what yuh have got. Mebbe another drink, eh?” “Yuh sure diagnose, cowboy,” applauded Harp. But liquor only served to make Harp more sad. He became maudlin in his grief, trying to tell the story of his life and only remembering some sad stories he had read. His grief affected Slim, and they cried crocodile tears on the top of the bar and swore eternal friendship, while the bartender begged them to go away and let him sleep. * * * * * While Harp bathed his soul in tears, Brick and Soapy rode along the Big Elk grades, rattling along at a good pace over the narrow road. They were nearing the spot where the stage had gone over the edge, and Brick was telling Soapy about how he and Harp had passed the wreck without knowing it. Suddenly the team swerved widely on a hairpin turn, throwing one rear wheel off the grade. Brick grabbed the side of the seat, as he was thrown violently over the side, and his eyes caught a flash of a masked man just ahead of the horses, his rifle pointing at them.