The proprietor stared at the angry puncher as he gathered up his saddle and rifle and started for the door. He turned to put away the bottle and the sound came near being unfortunate for him. Bill leaped sideways, turning while in the air and landed on his feet like a cat, his left hand gripping a heavy Colt that covered the short ribs of the frightened proprietor before that worthy could hardly realize the move. "Oh, all right," growled Bill, appearing to be disappointed. "I reckoned mebby you was gamblin’ on a shore thing. I feels impelled to offer you my sincere apology; you ain’t th’ kind as would even gamble _on_ a shore thing. You ’ll see me again," he promised. The sound of his steps on the porch ended in a thud as he leaped to the ground and then he passed the window leading his horse and scowling darkly. The proprietor mopped his head and reached twice for the glass before he found it. "Gawd, what a bloody ’eathen," he grunted. "_’E_ won’t be as easy as the lawst was, blime ’im." Mr. Hawley looked up and frowned, but there was something in the suspicious eyes that searched his face that made him cautious. Bill dropped his load on the floor and spoke sharply. "I want supper an’ a bed. You ain’t full up, an’ you ain’t out of grub. So I ’m goin’ to get ’em both right here. Yes?" "You shore called th’ turn, stranger," replied Mr. Hawley in his Sunday voice. "That’s what I ’m in business for. An’ business is shore dull these days." He wondered at the sudden smile that illuminated Bill’s face and half guessed it; but he said nothing and went to work. When Bill pushed back from the table he was more at peace with the world and he treated, closely watching his companion. Mr. Hawley drank with a show of pleasure and forthwith brought out cigars. He seated himself beside his guest and sighed with relief. "I ’m plumb tired out," he offered. "An’ I ain’t done much. You look tired, too. Come a long way?" "Logan," replied Bill. "Do _you_ know where I ’m goin’? An’ why?" he asked. Mr. Hawley looked surprised and almost answered the first part of the question correctly before he thought. "Well," he grinned, "if I could tell where strangers was goin’, an’ why, I would n’t never ask ’em where they come from. An’ I ’d shore hunt up a li’l game of faro, you bet!" Bill smiled. "Well, that might be a good idea. But, say, what ails this town, anyhow?" "What ails it? Hum! Why, lack of money for one thing; scenery, for another; wimmin, for another. Oh, h—l, I ain’t got time to tell you what ails it. Why?" "Is there anything th’ matter with me?" "I don’t know you well enough for to answer that kerrect." "Well, would you turn around an’ stare at me, an’ seem pained an’ hurt? Do I look funny? Has anybody put a sign on my back?" "You looks all right to me. What’s th’ matter?"