"I’m joinin’ issue with you on that," replied Tex. "Th’ sense of loyalty an’ affection of this town for its leadin’ citizen is a great an’ beautiful thing for these degenerate, money-mad days. Parenthetically, I wonder if there was ever a time when th’ days were anythin’ else? Why, everybody is his friend! There’s Jake, an’ th’ nephew, Whiskey Jim, Tim Murphy, Jerry Saunders, John Graves, Blascom, you, an’ me. I don’t know any more at this writin’. An’ that leadin’ citizen, a man of culture, wealth, and discernment, is our most esteemed Mr. Gus Williams. Hear! Hear!" "There’s some names you can scratch, Carney among ’em," growled the saloonkeeper, spitting in violent disgust. "Yore touchin’ paregoric near makes me weep. an’ I’m hard-shelled, like a clam. Two-thirds of th’ people here do what he says, because he either scares or fools ’em. Th’ rest dassn’t lynch him because they ain’t strong enough. Wealth? Shore. He got most of it when th’ trail was in full swing. His brands, an’ he had a-plenty, were copied from some on th’ south ranges near th’ old trail. A herd comin’ up, grazin’ wide, or passin’ through that scrub an’ hill country would near certain pick up a few local head on th’ way, cattle bein’ gregarious. Whiskey Jim was th’ local herd trimmer. He’d throw up a herd, claim any of th’ stray brands as belongin’ around here. He had th’ authority an’ th’ drawin’s of them brands. If it was a herd of Horseshoe an’ Circle Dots he claimed every other brand with them that was found this side of th’ Cimarron. You know th’ rules. He got ’em. Then there was stampedes, an’ cattle run off at night. One time it got so bad that there was talk of a third Texan Expedition to clean it up. Only this one would ’a’ been for a different purpose than th’ other two." "You better keep off th’ Texas Expedition," said Tex. "That was a covered invasion for th’ freedom of th’ pore, robbed, browbeaten New Mexicans; an’ it come to a terrible end." "Not th’ one I’m referrin’ to," retorted Carney, his face set and determined. "Th’ second one--that plundered caravans on th’ old Santa Fe. I called this other one th’ third only because of th’ number of men who would have been in it, an’ because it was a Texas idea. But we’ll not quarrel. I had a good friend in th’ second, avengin’ th’ first." "I won’t quarrel about Texas," said Tex. "Not bein’ a Texan, my withers are unwrung. What did Williams do in th’ face of that threat?" "Drifted his herds off before snow flew, to a distant winter range an’ let th’ trail herds alone." "That story ain’t unusual," observed Tex. "He’s a strange man. Picks queer names for his hosses. I never heard such names. Take my roan, now: his name is Oh My Cayenne. That’s a devil of a name for anythin’, let alone a hoss. Where’d he ever git it?"