“Well, of course, you haven't needed her,” the gambler reminded her, “but she'll be droppin' in before long, now--Bob McGraw's a stranger in town, an' entitled to the kindly services o' the community as a whole, so Mrs. P. can show up at the Hat Ranch under those conditions without unbendin' her dignity.” “I suppose she is kind enough in her way,” Donna began, “but--” “You don't like her way, eh?” “I'm afraid I'm inclined to be uncharitable at times.” “Nonsense!” he corrected. “Ain't you been a' nursin' the sick?” “Yes. Which reminds me that you, also, have been performing one of the works of mercy. You came from the cemetery, did you no?!” “Yes, I've been buryin' the dead. They had me as witness on the coroner's jury last night, an' after the jury decided that it was justifiable homicide, there was nothin' to do but plant the three o' 'em--before the sun got too high. But let's take up some live topic--” Again Donna laughed, for while Harley P.'s humor was rather grim, Donna had lived long enough in San Pasqual to appreciate it. The big gambler loved to see her laugh, and the thought that she was courageous enough to enjoy his jest, considering the terrible experience which she had lately undergone, filled him with manly admiration. “It's another joke,” he began presently, “only this time it's on San Pasqual. I want to put up a job on the town, an' you've got to help me, Miss Donna.” Donna gave him a graceful travesty of a military salute. “'Onward, Heart of Bruce, and I will follow thee,'” she quoted. “But before you explain your plans, tell me what has poor little San Pasqual been doing of late to earn your enmity?”