"Never, never, never—" began Angy, holding up his hand to swear; but Pecos stopped him with a sign. "Nothing like that, Pardner," he said. "You been breakin' that pledge for forty years. Jest look me in the eye now and promise me you won't tech a drop until I'm free." "All right, Pecos," agreed Angy, "I'll do it, I won't touch a drop till you're free." "And when I'm free," continued Pecos, "I'll stake you to a drunk from which Geronimo will sure date time. Now let's git down to business." The details of that campaign against the People were talked over in hushed secrecy and when on Monday morning Pecos appeared before the stern judge to plead, Angevine Thorne stood just within the rail, shuffling his worn hat nervously. "I will call the case of the People versus Pecos Dalhart," said the judge. "Pecos Dalhart, to the charge of grand larceny do you plead 'Guilty' or 'Not guilty'?" "'Not guilty,' Your Honor!" responded Pecos. "The defendant enters a plea of 'Not guilty,'" observed the judge impassively. "Are you represented by counsel, Mr. Dalhart?" "No, Your Honor," replied Pecos. "You understand, do you not, that in case you are unable to employ an attorney the court will appoint one to advise you, free of charge?" "Yes, Your Honor," answered Pecos, "but if it's all the same to you I'd rather not have a lawyer. I'd like to ask a favor, Judge, if you don't mind. The reason I don't want an attorney appointed is that I know very well none of these lawyers around here can stand up to the district attorney when it comes to a case of law"—here Kilkenny smiled grimly to himself and glanced at Mr. Baker of the _Blade_—"but at the same time, Judge, I do want some one to speak for me, and I'm goin' to ask you to appoint my friend Mr. Thorne, back there, as my counsellor." "Mr. Thorne?" inquired the judge, and as Angy stepped forward, smirking and bowing, a slight smile broke up the fine legal lines on the judicial brows. At no time was Angy over-fastidious about his attire, and a night in jail, particularly in the jag-cell, is warranted to spoil the appearance of the finest suit of clothes that was ever made. Angy's clothes were old and worn; his shirt was greasy around the neck, and his overalls, hanging loosely about his hips, piled up in slovenly rolls above his shoe-tops; his hat, from much fanning of open fires, was grimed with ashes and whitened with splashes of sour dough, and his shiny bald head and red face told all too plainly the story of his past. In the titter that followed his announcement he stood silent, rolling his bloodshot eyes upon the audience, but as the grinning bailiff smote the table for order he turned with the dignity of an orator and addressed the judge. "Your Honor," he said, beginning the set speech which he had prepared, "I am not unaware that this request on the part of the defendant is a little irregular, but if the court please I should like to state the reasons—"