Stepping to the bar he bought a drink and a moment later swung onto the big rangy black and clattered down the street. At the edge of the town he turned and started slowly back, dismounting wherever the lights of a saloon illumined the dingy street, but never once catching a glimpse of the figure that followed in the thick blackness of the shadows. Before the saloon of the surly proprietor the cowpuncher brought his big black to a stand and sat contemplating the sorrel that stood dejectedly with ears adroop and one hind foot resting lightly upon the toe. "So that's the cayuse Fatty wanted to trade me for Ace of Spades!" he snorted. "That dog-legged, pot-gutted, lop-eared patch of red he offers to trade to _me_ fer _Ace of Spades_! It's a doggone insult! I didn't know it at the time, havin' only a couple of drinks, an' too sober to judge a insult when I seen one. But it's different now, I can see it in the dark. I'm a-goin' in there an'--an' twist his nose off an' feed it to him. But first I got to find old Bat. He's an Injun, but he's a good old scout, an' I hate to think of him walkin' all the way to Montana while some damn Greaser is spendin' my hard earned samolians that I give him for carfare. It's a long walk to Montana. Plumb through Colorado an' Wyomin' an'--an' New Jersey, or somewheres. Mebbe he's in there now. As they say in the Bible, or somewheres, you got to hunt for a thing where you find it, or something. Hold still, there you black devil you! What you want to stand there spinnin' 'round like a top for? You be'n drinkin', you doggone old ringtail! What was I goin' to do, now. Oh, yes, twist Patty's nose, an' find Bat an' shoot at his ears a while, an' make him get his ticket to New Jersey an'---- "This is a blame slow old town, she needs wakin' up, anyhow. If I ride in that door I'll get scraped off like mud off a boot." He spurred the black and brought him up with a jerk beside the sorrel which snorted and reared back, snapping the reins with which he had been tied, and stood with distended nostrils sniffing inquiringly at Ace of Spades as the cowpuncher swung to the ground. "Woke up, didn't you, you old stager? Y'ain't so bad lookin' when you're alive. Patty'll have to get him a new pair of bridle reins. Mebbe the whole town'll look better if it's woke up some. "Y-e-e-e-e-o-w! Cowboys a-comin'!" A citizen or two paused on the street corner, a few Mexicans grinned as they drew back to allow the Gringo free access to the saloon, and a swarthy figure slipped unobserved across the street and blended into the shadow of the adobe wall. "O-o-o-o-o-h, the yaller r-o-s-e of Texas!" sang the cowpuncher, with joyous vehemence. As he stepped into the room, his eyes swept the faces of the gamblers and again he burst into vociferous song: "O-o-o-o-o-h, w-h-e-r-e is my wanderin' b-o-y tonight?" "Hey, you! Whad'ye think this is, a camp meetin'?"