The wind moaned darkly down the lonesome lane between the rows of saloons and stores. He stood with bowed legs spread wide, thumbs hung in his sagging cartridge belt, leaning a little against the storm. His howl was blotted out in a flurry of snow that was ushering in the long winter. Buck felt sad in spite of the dozen drinks under his belt. Sad and lonesome and restless. He belonged down in Texas and he was a long way from home. He had aimed to go back home this winter, wearing store clothes and with coin in his pockets. But Cotton Eye had cleaned him. He crossed over to Long Henry’s and was promptly pulled up to the bar by several celebrants. Buck tossed out a ten dollar bill with the air of a man who scorns money. Somebody was singing “Sam Bass”. “Sam Bass” is a ballad that extolls the deeds of that notorious Texas outlaw. The old time outlaw has always held a place in the hearts of the cowpunchers. His vices are buried, his virtues, real or imaginary, live on in cowland saga. “Sam first came to Texas a cowboy for to be-- A kinder hearted feller you seldom ever see!” Buck Bell twirled his whisky glass between thumb and forefinger. The singer had a good voice and his audience was mellow and prone to the sentiment that has to do with white haired mothers, golden haired sweethearts and generosity of dying outlaws. “Sam met his fate at Round Rock, July the twenty-first; They pierced poor Sam with rifle balls and emptied out his purse. “Jim had borrowed Sam’s good gold and didn’t want to pay, So the only shot he saw, was to give poor Sam away. He sold out Sam . . . Buck Bell nodded at his dim reflection in the mirror above the back bar. “I usta work clost to Round Rock,” he told the man next to him. He downed his drink at one gulp and reached for the bar bottle as it came down along the line. He became more quiet, more thoughtful, as the night wore on. That haunted restlessness drove him out to the deserted street. He drifted, alone and wrapped in brooding thought, into Cavanaugh’s. The negro piano player knew the song of Sam Bass. He sang it through three times for Buck. Buck gave him ten dollars. Only ten more remained in his overalls pocket. * * * * * After many more drinks Buck Bell started for a place across the tracks. His last ten was spent. His heart was as empty as his pockets. The mournful shriek of a locomotive made him shiver as he halted in the lee of the station to light a cigaret. The train dispatcher stepped out of the lighted telegraph office, an eyeshade across his forehead, train orders in his hand. He did not see the tall form of Buck Bell leaning a little unsteadily in the darkness just to one side of the locomotive headlight.