Tex tarried after the round had been drunk but he did not order one on his own account, feeling that it would be a mistake under the circumstances. It might be regarded as a sign of weakness, and was almost certain to cause trouble. Turning his back on the sullen miner he talked casually with the bartender and the cavalrymen, and then one of the miners cleared his throat and spoke. "Did you have a run-in with th’ big Irishman?" he asked. Tex leaned carelessly against the bar, grinned and frankly recounted the affair, and before he had finished the narrative, answering grins appeared here and there among his audience. The sputter of a sulphur match caught his eye as his late adversary slowly reached for and lit the cigar he had pushed from him a few minutes earlier, but Tex did not immediately glance that way. When he had finished the story he looked around the room, noticed that all were smoking and he nodded slightly in friendly understanding. A little later he said good night, smiled pleasantly at the once sullen prospector, and went carelessly out into the night. The buzz of comment following his departure was not unfavorable to him. When he entered the hotel barroom all eyes turned to him, and he noticed a grim smile on Williams’ face and that the evil countenance of the nephew was aquiver with suspicion. Walking over, he stepped close to the table, watching the play, and from where he could keep tabs on Bud Haines’ every move. During the new deal Williams leaned back, stretched, and glanced up. "Had yore supper?" he carelessly asked. Tex nodded. "Shore: reg’lar home-cooked feed. It went good for a change. I reckon I shore earned it, too." He drew out a sack of tobacco, filled a cigarette paper and held the sack in his teeth while he rolled himself a smoke. "What’s paid around here for a good, half-day’s work?" he mumbled between his teeth. "What kind of work?" judicially asked Williams. Tex removed the sack, moistened the cigarette and held it unlighted while he answered. "Freightin’ on foot, carpenterin’, diggin’, an’ doin’ what I was told to do." "Dollar to a dollar four bits," replied Williams. "What you doin’? Hirin’ out?" "I was; but I ain’t no more," replied Tex, lighting up. He exhaled a lungful of smoke and dragged up a chair. "I asked two dollars, an’ there was an argument. That’s all." The hands lay where they had been dealt, Williams having let his own lay, and the players were idly listening until he should pick it up. "What’s it all about?" asked Williams. "You talk like a dish of hash." The eager nephew squirmed closer to the table and his assumed look of indifference was a heavy failure.