Bill leaned weakly against Hawley’s and laughed until the tears rolled down his cheeks. Pushing weakly from the building he returned to the Victoria to play another joke on its proprietor. Finding it vacant he slipped upstairs and hunted for a room to suit him. The bed was the softest he had seen for a long time and it lured him into removing his boots and chaps and guns, after he had propped a chair against the door as a warning signal, and stretching out flat on his back, he prepared to enjoy solid comfort. It was not yet dark, and as he was not sleepy he lay there thinking over the events of the past twenty-four hours, often laughing so hard as to shake the bed. What a reputation he would have in the morning! The softness of the bed got in its work and he fell asleep, for how long he did not know; but when he awakened it was dark and he heard voices coming up from below. They came from the room he had refused to take. One expression banished all thoughts of sleep from his mind and he listened intently. "’Red-headed Irish gunman.’ Why, they means me! ’Make him hop into h—l.’ I don’t reckon I ’d do that for anybody, even my friends." "I tried to give ’im this room, but ’e would n’t tyke it" protested the proprietor, hurriedly. "’E says the bloody room was n’t good enough for ’im, _hand_ ’e marches me out hand makes off. Likely ’e ’s in _’Awley’s_." "No, he ain’t," growled a strange voice. "You ’ve gone an’ bungled th’ whole thing." "But I s’y I did n’t, you know. I tries to give ’im this werry room, George, but ’e would n’t ’ave it. D’y think I wants ’im running haround this blooming town? ’E ’s worse nor the other, _hand_ Gawd knows ’e was bad enough. ’E ’s a cold-_blooded_ beggar, ’e is!" "You missed yore chance," grunted the other. "Wish _I_ had that gun you had." "I was wishing to Gawd you did," retorted the proprietor. "It never looked so bloody big before, d—n ’is _’ide_!" "Well, his cayuse is in Hawley’s corral," said the first speaker. "If I ever finds Hawley kept him under cover I ’ll blow his head off. Come on; we ’ll get Harris first. He ought to be gettin’ close to town if he got th’ word I sent over to Tuxedo. He won’t let us call him. He’s a man of his word." "He ’ll be here, all right. Fred an’ Tom is watchin’ his shack, an’ we better take th’ other end of town—there ’s no tellin’ how he ’ll come in now," suggested Art Thomas. "But I wish I knowed where that cussed gun-man is."