"What did your men say when they saw him? Do they know who he is?" asked Mrs. Shields anxiously. Blake laughed: "Oh, yes, they know who he is. They ain't the talking kind in a case like that; they won't say a word to him about what he has done. Besides, he was under their roof, eating their food, and that's enough for them. Of course, they were a little surprised, but not half as much as I thought they would be. He is a man who gives a good first impression, and the boys are all fine fellows, big-hearted, square, clean-living and peaceful. Reputations don't count for much with them, for they know that reputations are gossip-made in most cases. I asked him to stay, and they haven't got no reason to object, and they won't waste no time looking for reasons, neither. If there is any trouble at all, it will be his own fault. Then again, they know that he is all sand and that his gunplay is real and sudden; not that they are afraid of him, or anybody else, for that matter, but he is the kind of a man they like--somebody who can stand up on his own legs and give better than he gets." "I reckon he fills that bill, all right," laughed the sheriff. "He _can_ stand up on his own legs, and when he does he makes good. And as for gunplay, good Lord, he's a shore wizard! I reckoned I could do things with a gun, but he can beat me. He ain't no Boston pet, and he ain't no city tough, not nohow. And I'd rather have him with me in a mix-up than against me. He's the coolest proposition loose in this part of the country at any game, and I know what I'm talking about, too." "You promised to tell us everything about him, all you knew," reproached Helen. "And I am sure that it will be well worth hearing." "Well, I was saving it up 'til I could tell it all at once and when you would all be together," he replied. "There wasn't any use of telling it twice," he explained as he brought out a box of cigars. "These are the same brand you sampled last time you were here," he assured his friend as he extended the box. "By George, that's fine!" cried the foreman, picking out the blackest cigar he could see. "I could taste them cigars for a whole week, they was so good. There's nothing like a good Perfecto to make a fellow feel like he's too lucky to live." "Oh," said Mrs. Shields. "Then you won't care for the coffee and pie and gingerbread," she sighed. "I'm very sorry." Blake jumped: "Lord, Ma'am," he cried hastily, "I meant in the smoking line! Why, I've been losing sleep a-dreaming of your cooking. Every time the cook fills my cup with his insult to coffee I feel so lonesome that it hurts!" "You want to look out, Tom!" laughingly warned the sheriff, "or you'll get yourself disliked! When I don't care for Margaret's cooking I ain't fool enough to say so, not a bit of it."