Words ran dry again. They shifted their positions, looked in their glasses, read the labels on the bottles. They dropped a word now and then to the proprietor about his trade, and his ornaments. “Good head,” commented McLean. “Big old ram,” assented the proprietor. “Shot him myself on Gray Bull last fall.” “Sheep was thick in the Tetons last fall,” said the Virginian. On the bar stood a machine into which the idle customer might drop his nickel. The coin then bounced among an arrangement of pegs, descending at length into one or another of various holes. You might win as much as ten times your stake, but this was not the most usual result; and with nickels the three friends and the bridegroom now mildly sported for a while, buying them with silver when their store ran out. “Was it sheep you went after in the Tetons?” inquired the proprietor, knowing it was horse thieves. “Yes,” said the Virginian. “I’ll have ten more nickels.” “Did you get all the sheep you wanted?” the proprietor continued. “Poor luck,” said the Virginian. “Think there’s a friend of yours in town this afternoon,” said the proprietor. “Did he mention he was my friend?” The proprietor laughed. The Virginian watched another nickel click down among the pegs. Honey Wiggin now made the bridegroom a straight offer. “We’ll take this thing off your hands,” said he. “Any or all of us,” said Lin. But Scipio held his peace. His loyalty went every inch as far as theirs, but his understanding of his friend went deeper. “Don’t change your clothes,” was the first and the last help he would be likely to give in this matter. The rest must be as such matters must always be, between man and man. To the other two friends, however, this seemed a very special case, falling outside established precedent. Therefore they ventured offers of interference. “A man don’t get married every day,” apologized McLean. “We’ll just run him out of town for yu’.” “Save yu’ the trouble,” urged Wiggin. “Say the word.” The proprietor now added his voice. “It’ll sober him up to spend his night out in the brush. He’ll quit his talk then.” But the Virginian did not say the word, or any word. He stood playing with the nickels. “Think of her,” muttered McLean. “Who else would I be thinking of?” returned the Southerner. His face had become very sombre. “She has been raised so different!” he murmured. He pondered a little, while the others waited, solicitous. A new idea came to the proprietor. “I am acting mayor of this town,” said he. “I’ll put him in the calaboose and keep him till you get married and away.” “Say the word,” repeated Honey Wiggin. Scipio’s eye met the proprietor’s, and he shook his head about a quarter of an inch. The proprietor shook his to the same amount. They understood each other. It had come to that point where there was no way out, save only the ancient, eternal way between man and man. It is only the great mediocrity that goes to law in these personal matters.