That was enough for Pecos—he saw that he was not needed. True, he had promised Angy a drink from which Geronimo should date time, but the citizens' committee had taken all that off his hands. Pulling his hat down over his eyes he struggled out into the deserted street and looked around like a lost dog—then with a sigh he turned and made his way back to the jail. It was the only home he had now. On one shoulder he bore a box of apples—a last gift for the boys inside—and as he stepped in through the sliding doors and saw them come swarming out from their cells to greet him he regarded them almost with affection. For six months he had been alcalde in that jail, laying down the law with fist and strap, and now he must resign. As his sheriff attended to the distribution of the fruit Pecos stepped into his little cell, shoved the worn Bible into his pocket and got his strap; then, after a hurried word with Boone Morgan through the bars, he mounted on the alcalde's chair and addressed them. "Boys," he said, "luck come my way and I'm goin' to leave you. You'll have to have a new alcalde now and I only ask one thing before I go. They're goin' to throw a big, tall, hump-backed dastard in here pretty soon. He's only got one eye, but he's got lots of money and I want you to kangaroo him to the limit, and give him _this_ for contempt of court!" He raised the broad strap in the air. "Will you do it?" he yelled, and when they answered with a roar he hurled it into their midst. "All right then; fight for it, you tarriers!" he shouted, "_and the one that gits it is alcalde_!" They fought, and when it was over Pecos Dalhart stepped out of jail, a free man. It is a fine thing to be free, but freedom carries with it certain obligations, one of which is to keep out of jail. Pecos glanced into the jag-cell in passing and decided not to get drunk, at any rate. Then he went down to the office with Boone Morgan. "Well, Pecos," said that genial official, shaking out a bunch of keys, "you might as well take your property envelope and what money you got left—unless you expect to be back soon," he hinted. "By the way, what you goin' to do after you sober up?" "Well, I dunno," said Pecos, scratching his head. "I could go back up on the Verde, now Old Crit's in jail, and burn them Spectacle cows he stole off of me back into a Hock-sign—two bars and another circle would make a three-ball sign, all right—but I've quit that line of business. Look at Crit!" "Oh!" grunted the sheriff, "think you'll quit rustlin', eh? But say, how come you ain't drunk already? I had a little business I wanted to talk over with you, but I thought I'd better wait till you blew off."