"Glad to see you, boys," said Tex, heartily shaking hands all around. "My name’s Tex Jones. Come in ag’in," he invited. "Oh," he said in answer to Walt’s question, "Tommy ain’t done nothin’, yet. I was just wonderin’. Good boy, Tommy is. Sort of wild, I reckon, bein’ young. Busy after th’ gals. Most young fellers are hellers anyhow, or think they are. But he’s a likable pup." Walt laughed and the others grinned broadly. "You’ve shore figgered him wrong, Marshal. He’s scairt of th’ gals--won’t have nothin’ to do with ’em; an’ I ain’t never seen him nowhere near drunk; but" he hastily defended in loyalty to his absent friend, "he’s all right, other ways. Yes, sir--barrin’ them things, Tommy Watkins is a good man, an’ I can lick any feller that says he ain’t." "Which won’t be me," replied Tex, smiling. "I like him, first-rate. We been gettin’ acquainted fast. Well, boys," he said, turning toward the door, "have a good time an’ come in often. I like a little company from th’ outside. It relieves th’ monotony. So-long." "You shore had th’ monotony busted wide open today," chuckled Walt. "But Tommy’s a good boy--whatever th’ h--l he’s been doin’ since I saw him last." Watching the marshal until out of sight past the door he turned and regarded his companions. "I’m tellin’ you calves there’s a man who’d spit in th’ devil’s eye," he said. "We was playin’ with giant powder like four fools. Here’s to Tex Jones, Marshal of Windsor!" Lefty, tenderly putting the glass on the bar, looked thoughtfully around the room and then at the partially stunned barkeep. "How’s friend Bud takin’ th’ new marshal? Bud an’ him shore will have an’ interestin’ Colt fandango some of these fine days." Baldy sighed, wiped off the bar, and looked sorrowfully at the group. "Bud’s planted on Boot Hill. They done had th’ fandango, an’ he did th’ dancin’. My G--d, I can see it yet! It was like this--" and he left the bar, walked to the door, and painstakingly enacted the fight. When it was finished, he mopped his head and slowly returned to his accustomed place. Wyatt Holmes reached out and gravely shook hands with his friends and finished by shaking his own. "You allus was a fool for luck, Walt," he said thoughtfully. "Giant powder?" he muttered piously. "Giant h--l! It was dynamite with th’ fuse lit. Here," he demanded, wheeling on the startled Baldy. "I _need_ this drink! Set ’em up!" Walt shook his head. "Now, what th’ devil has Tommy done?" he growled. Baldy, remembering Tommy’s share in the altercation, maintained a discreet silence. *CHAPTER XV* *A GOOD SAMARITAN*