Bill walked slowly forward, by force of will ironing out the humor in his face and assuming his sternest expression. "I want supper an’ a bed, an’ don’t forget to be plumb polite," he rumbled, sitting down by the side of a small table in such a manner that it did not in the least interfere with the movement of his right hand. The observing proprietor observed and gave strict attention to the preparation of the meal. The gun-man, glancing around, slowly arose and walked carelessly to a chair that had blank wall behind it, and from where he could watch windows and doors. When the meal was placed before him he glanced up. "Go over there an’ sit down," he ordered, motioning to a chair that stood close to the rifle that leaned against the wall. "Loaded?" he demanded. The proprietor could only nod. "Then sling it acrost yore knees an’ keep still. Well, start movin’." The proprietor walked as though he were in a trance but when he seated himself and reached for the weapon a sudden flash of understanding illumined him and caused cold sweat to bead upon his wrinkled brow. He put the weapon down again, but the noise made Bill look up. "Acrost yore knees," growled the puncher, and the proprietor hastily obeyed, but when it touched his legs he let loose of it as though it were hot. He felt a great awe steal through his fear, for here was a gun-man such as he had read about. This man gave him all the best of it just to tempt him to make a break. The rifle had been in his hands, and while it was there the gun-man was calmly eating with both hands on the table and had not even looked up until the noise of the gun made him! "My Gawd, ’e must be a wizard with ’em. I ’opes I don’t forget!" With the thought came a great itching of his kneecap; then his foot itched so as to make him squirm and wear horrible expressions. Bill, chancing to glance up carelessly, caught sight of the expressions and growled, whereupon they became angelic. Fearing that he could no longer hold in the laughter that tortured him, Bill arose. "Shoulder, _arms_!" he ordered, crisply. The gun went up with trained precision. "Been a sojer," thought Bill. "Carry, _arms_! About, _face_! To a bedroom, _march_!" He followed, holding his sides, and stopped before the room. "This th’ best?" he demanded. "Well, it ain’t good enough for me. About, _face_! Forward, _march_! Column, _left_! Ground, _arms_! Fall out." Tossing a coin on the floor as payment for the supper Bill turned sharply and went out without even a backward glance. The proprietor wiped the perspiration from his face and walked unsteadily to the bar, where he poured out a generous drink and gulped it down. Peering out of the door to see if the coast was clear, he scurried across the street and told his troubles to the harness-maker.