He turned and looked at Sam Leach, who was leaning on the bar, looking solemnly at a glass of liquor. The poker game had just broken up, leaving Silent Slade winner. And Silent was just intoxicated enough to crow over his poker-playing ability. “Aw, you were just kinda lucky,” observed Leach. “Tha’sso?” Silent laughed. “Lucky, eh? Any time you whippoorwills from Silverton mingle cards with a Marlinite—look out. They tell me that yo’re backin’ Hank Stagg for sheriff.” “Well, what if I am?” “Are yuh tryin’ to be funny—or don’tcha know any better?” “What’s the matter with Hank Stagg?” “What?” Silent stared at Leach in amazement. “My ——, yuh don’t expect me to stand here and tell yuh everythin’ that’s the matter with him, do yuh? I’m limited to just so many words, and they ain’t enough to tell yuh more than half what’s wrong with Hank Stagg.” “Let’s all be good friends, eh?” suggested the bartender, lifting a bottle to the top of the bar. “Election ain’t nothin’ between friends.” Silent squinted gravely at the bartender. “Li’l dove of peace, this ain’t between friends.” “Well, I’m not goin’ to quarrel with you, Slade,” said Leach. “Yo’ve got your own opinions on the matter.” “You ain’t goin’ to quarrel with me?” Silent seemed sad over the information. “You ain’t? Well, I won’t quarrel with the bartender; so I guess I’ll go home. My ——, I’m sorry yuh won’t quarrel with me, Leach. I’m feelin’ quarrelsome, I am.” Silent adjusted his hat to his satisfaction and walked out of the door, heading straight for the hitch-rack. It was almost midnight, and Marlin City was truly a deserted village. At the hitch-rack Silent stopped and studied the situation. His horse was not there. Just to be doubly sure he put his hand on the rail of the rack and walked all the way around it. “If there was a horse there I’d encounter same,” he said aloud. “The question is this: Where’s my horse?” As far as he could see there was not a horse at any of the hitch-racks. He deliberated deeply. It might be that someone had put the horse in the livery-stable, he thought. Perhaps Brick and Harp had done this as a joke. He wended his way to the stable and woke up the stableman, who swore witheringly at Silent for dumping him off his cot. “You want your horse? ——, you ain’t got no horse here!” “Ain’t I?” Silent seemed surprized. “Well, now, that’s funny.” The stableman turned up the light of his lantern and spat thoughtfully. “You never brought your horse here, Silent.” “Nope. But she ought to be here, Jimmy.” “Why?” “Well,” Silent spread his big hands, “she ain’t at the rack where I left her, that’s why.” “Oh, for gosh sake, can yuh beat that?” Jimmy Meeker’s voice was squeaky with disgust. “Go on home, Silent.” “Hu-huh,” Silent had a new idea now. “Say, Jimmy, didja see anythin’ of Ike Welden this evenin’?” “He left here about nine o’clock, I think.”