"I reckon he can," agreed Tex. "I just come in to get th’ doc to go out an’ look at Blascom. Since he’s struck it rich he’s been feedin’ like a fool. Them as live by canned grub, dies by canned grub, says I; an’ he’s close to doin’ it. I got a bottle of whiskey for him, but I reckon gin will be better for his stummick. Yes, a lot better. Hey, Baldy!" he shouted. "Put me out a bottle of gin an’ set up th’ drinks for all hands. We’ll drink to a better understandin’ an’ to Hennery an’ his bride." He pulled the pint flask from his pocket and winked at his companions. "I got a little somethin’ extra, here. Th’ smoke of Scotch fires is in it. Might as well use it up," and he quickly filled the glasses on the table, discovering when too late that he had none left for himself. "Oh, well; whiskey is whiskey, to me. I’ll take some of Baldy’s with th’ boys," and he swaggered over to the bar, tossing a gold piece on the counter. "Where’s yore badge, Marshal?" asked Baldy, curiously. Tex quickly felt of his coat lapel and then of his vest. "Cuss it!" he growled. "I knowed I’d lose that star--th’ pin was a little short to go far enough in th’ socket. Oh, well," he laughed, holding up his glass, "everyone knows me now; an’ they’ll know me better as time goes on. Here’s to Hennery!" he shouted. "Drink her standin’!" The toast drunk to roaring jests, he took the gin and went back to Williams. "Goin’ after th’ doc," he remarked. "Lost my badge, too; but lemme say that anybody found wearin’ it shore will have bad luck. See you all tomorrow. He’s sick as a pup, Blascom is. Good night, an’ sleep tight, as th’ sayin’ is!" he shouted laughingly and nodding at the crowd he wheeled and went out. Once secure from observation of any curious inhabitants of the town, he ran to the horses, mounted, and rode up to the Saunders’ house, a home no longer. Entering it he quickly collected a bag of provisions and then, milling the horses before the door to start a plain trail, he cantered toward the station, where he crossed the tracks and struck south for the old cattle trail. All night he rode hard, sitting the sorrel to keep his own horse fresh, and at dawn, giving them a ration of corn each, he ate a cold and hurried breakfast and soon was on his way again. During the forenoon he let the sorrel go, riding the gray with the depleted corn sack tied to the pommel. Several hours later he threw the still further depleted sack on the roan, changed horses again and turned the gray loose. After nightfall he came within sight of the lights of a small town and, waiting until the hour was quite late, rode through it casually to lose the tracks of his horse among the countless prints on its streets. He left it along a well-traveled trail leading westward, one which would take him, eventually, to Rawlins.