The lamps in this room were suspended from the ceiling at such a height that their light entered the eye at the hypnotic angle; and so it was not long before Young Van, weary from the strain of the week, began to nod. The bar with its line of booted figures, and the quartets of card-players, and the one waiter moving about in his spotted white apron, were beginning to blur and run together. The clink of glasses and the laughter came to his ears as if from a great distance. Once he nearly recovered his faculties. A group of new arrivals were looking toward his corner. “Waiting for Purple Finn, eh?” said one. “Well, I guess he’s got a nice long wait in front of him, poor fool!” Then they all laughed. And Young Van himself, with half-open eyes, had to smile over the poor fool in the corner who was waiting for Purple Finn. “I hear Jack Flagg’s in town,” said the barkeeper. “I wonder if he is!” replied the first speaker. “I wonder if Jack Flagg is in town!” Again they laughed. And again Young Van smiled. How odd that Jack Flagg should be in town! He was awakened by a sound of hammering. There was little change in the room: the card games were going steadily on; the bar still had its line of thirsty plainsmen; two men were wrangling in a corner. Then he made out a group of newcomers who were tacking a placard to the wall, and chuckling as they did so. And now, for the first time, Young Van became conscious that he was no longer alone at his table. Opposite him, smiling genially, and returning his gaze with benevolent watery eyes, sat a big Texan. This individual wore his cowboy hat on the back of his head, and made no effort to conceal the two revolvers and the knife at his belt. “D’ye know,” said the Texan, “I like you. What’s your name?” “Vandervelt. What is yours?” “Charlie--that’s my name.” Then his smile faded, and he shook his head. “But you won’t find Purple Finn here.” “Why not?” “Ain’t that funny! You don’t know ’bout Purple Finn. It’s b’cause Jack Flagg’s in town. They ain’t friendly--I know Jack Flagg. I’ve been workin’ with ’im--down Paradise way.” Young Van was nearly awake. “You don’t happen to be a cook, do you?” said he. “Yes,” Charlie replied dreamily. “I’m a cook. But I’m nothin’ to Jack Flagg. He’s won’erful--won’erful!” The engineer got up to stretch his legs, and incidentally took occasion to read the placard. It ran as follows:-- PURPLE FINN: I heard you was looking for me. Well, I’ll be around to Murphy’s to-morrow because I want to tell you you’re talking too much. JACK FLAGG.