"My friends and relations has caused a separation," chanted the dirge-like voice of the singer, "Concerning the part of some favorite one. Besides their vexation and great trubbelation They will some time be sorry for what they have done." The voice sounded familiar to Pecos—or was it the music?—well, never mind, he would hear it to the end. "My fortune is small, I will truly confess it, But what I have got it is all of my own, I might have lived long in this world and enjoyed it If my cruel friends could have left me alone. "Farewell to this country, I now must leave it, And seek my way to some far distant land. My horse and my saddle is a source of all pleasure And when I meet friend I'll join heart and hand. "Farewell to the girl that I no more shall see, This world is wide and I'll spend it in pleasures, And I don't care for no girl that don't care for me, I'll drink and be jolly and not care for no downfall. "I'll drownd my troubles in a bottle of wine; I'll drownd them away in a full-flowing bumper And ride through the wild to pass away time. And when Death calls for me I'll follow him home. "No wife, no children will be left to suffer, Not even a sweetheart will be left to mourn. I'll be honest and fair in all my transactions, Whatever I do, I intend to be true. "Here is health and good wishes to all you fair ladies— It is hard, boys, to find one that will always be true." A hush fell upon the jail as the singer wailed forth his sad lament, and when the song was ended a murmur ran along the hall. Pecos listened, half in a doze, to the muttered comments; then with a jerk he sat up and stared. The man in the next cell had said, "That's old Babe, singin' his jag-song. He'll be in here pretty soon." Babe! And he would be in there pretty soon! At that magic word a new life swept through Pecos Dalhart's veins; his drowsiness left him, and rousing up from his bunk he struggled forth and washed his face at the tap. Time and again he slapped the cool water upon his neck and hair; he drank a last draught of its freshness and paced the length of the corridor, his head bowed as if in thought—but listening above all other noises for the sound of Angy's voice. Bill Todhunter came and glanced at him impersonally, as he might gaze at a bronc that was about to be broke, but Pecos made no appeal. He had started out to wreck Boone Morgan's jail for him, break up his Kangaroo Court, and establish the revolution, and with Angy's help he would do it, yet. The jail gang edged in on him a little closer, dogging his steps as the wolf-pack follows its kill, but at every turn of his shaggy head they slunk away. Then at last, just as the clock tolled four, the keys clanked in the outer door; Hung Wo slipped in with his coffee-pot and can, and after him came Angevine Thorne, escorted by the deputy.