"The only way," said he slowly, rolling a cigarette with the last thin dust of tobacco that remained in his pouch, so that he had to shake it over his hand carefully, "the only way that I can see to prevent that world-weariness coming over you is for you to acquire a sufficiency to live upon, a sufficiency that shall make it unnecessary for you to accept the laws of the pack and rend and tear and practise cunning. I think, considering such a temperament as yours, I should call off with our old bargain and strike a new one with you—half shares." I heaved a deep sigh. I saw myself returning home—and that right speedily—I saw already the blue sea break in white foam on the ultimate rocks of Ireland, the landing at Liverpool, the train journey north, the clean streets of my own town through which I hastened—home. "Ah, these castles," said Apache Kid, after a pause which I suppose was very brief, for such thoughts move quickly in the mind. "They can all be built now." Then he leant forward; and he was truly serious as he looked on me. "But one thing you will do in return," he said, and it was as the sign of an agony that I saw on his face. "You will do that little bit of business for me that I asked you once before?" He paused, hearkening; and I too was on the alert. The squelching of a horse’s hoofs was audible without. "Our pack-pony," said I; "it has come down for shelter, I expect." He rose and walked to the door. "Chuck that stuff under your bed!" said he, suddenly. I made haste, with agitated hands, to carry out the order, and as I bent to my task I heard a voice that seemed familiar say: "Apache Kid, I arrest you in the name of——" The remainder I lost, for Apache Kid’s cheery voice broke in: "Well, well, Sheriff—this is an unexpected pleasure! Come in, sir; come in; though I fear we can offer but slender——" "All right," I heard the sheriff say. "Glad to see you take it so well." And with a heavy tramp entered the sheriff of Baker City, booted and spurred and the rain running in a cascade from his hat, the brim of which was turned down all around. "Donoghue," he said, "Larry Donoghue, I arrest you in— Say! Where’s Donoghue, and what are you doin’ here, you, sir?" This latter was of course to me. "Donoghue you can never get now," said Apache Kid. "He will be saved the trouble of putting up a defence. But won’t you bring in your men?" "Is that your hoss along there on the hill under that big tree?" said the sheriff. "That," said Apache Kid, "was Canlan’s horse, I believe." The sheriff hummed to himself. "So," he said quietly, "just so. There ain’t any chance o’ Canlan dropping in here, is there?" "None whatever," said Apache Kid, calmly. "So," said the sheriff. "Well, I guess them pinto broncs of ours can do very well under that tree. That bronc of Canlan’s seemed some lonesome. Seemed kind o’ chirped up to see others o’ his species. They ’ll do very well there till we get dried a bit."