"Jake's put yore stuff in the stage," announced the landlord, who was also the bartender.

"Then Jake can take my bags out again," said the drummer, disagreeably.

"I'm staying over till to-morrow."

"Well, hotel-keepers can't afford to be particular," the landlord said, unsmilingly. "But yuh'll have to unload yore truck yore own self."

The drummer would have enjoyed cursing the landlord. But the latter had the same peculiar look about the eyes that Loudon had. The drummer went out into the street, thinking evil thoughts of these unamiable Westerners.

Kate, when the drummer left the room, smiled sweetly upon Loudon. It was his reward for ridding her of a pest. She did not know that Loudon's prime reason for squelching the drummer was practically the same reason that impels the average man, on receiving an unpleasant surprise, to throw things at the cat.

"How's Johnny Ramsay gettin' along?" inquired Loudon.

"He has completely recovered," Kate replied. "He went back to the Cross-in-a-box four days ago."

"That's good. I'm glad to hear it."

Paying no further attention to Kate, Loudon calmly proceeded to finish his breakfast. Kate began to find the silence painful.

"Why, Tom," said she, "aren't you even a little bit glad to see me?"

"Why should I be glad?" parried Loudon.

"You're not very polite, Tom. You--you make me feel very badly. Why, oh, why do you persist in making it so hard for me?"

Kate's voice was pitched low, and there was a running sob in it. But Loudon was not in the least affected.

"Last time I seen yuh," Loudon stated, deliberately, "yuh told me flat yuh never wanted to see me again. Yuh was engaged to Sam Blakely, too.

I don't understand yuh a little bit."

"Perhaps you will when I explain. You see, I am no longer engaged to Mr. Blakely."

"Yo're lucky."

"I think so myself. Under the circ.u.mstances, can't we be friends again? I didn't mean what I said, boy. Truly I didn't."

Loudon was looking at Kate, but he did not see her as she sat there in her chair, her black eyes imploring. Instead, he saw her as she appeared that day in the kitchen of the Bar S, when she wiped his kiss from her mouth and ordered him to leave her.

"Yo're too many for me," he said at last. "I dunno what yo're drivin'

at. But if yuh want to be friends, why, I'm the last fellah in the world to be yore enemy. Yuh know I never have exactly disliked yuh, Kate. Well, I got to be weavin' along. Glad to have seen yuh, Kate.

I'll see yuh later, maybe."

"Of course you will, Tom. I'll be at Lil's--Mrs. Mace, you know, at the Bend. You will come and see me, won't you?"

"Sh.o.r.e I will, an' glad to."

Loudon dropped the lady's hand as if it had been a hot iron, and departed. He had no intention of going near the house of Mrs. Mace.

He never wanted to see Kate Saltoun again.

In the street he found Scotty nervously awaiting him.

"Git yore hoss," said Scotty, "an' let's git out o' here."

"What's all the hurry?" queried Loudon.

"That female girl in the hotel. She'll be out in a minute, an' then yuh'll have to introduce me."

"She's Kate Saltoun, Scotty."

"Old Salt's daughter! It don't sound possible. An' him with a face like a grizzly. She's sh.o.r.ely four aces, Tom, an' as pretty as a little red wagon. But I ain't aimin' to make her acquaintance, an' yuh can gamble on that."

Happily for Scotty's peace of mind he and Loudon left Rocket twenty minutes ahead of the stage.

The drummer watched the departure of the stage with brooding eyes.

When the dust in the street had settled he had another drink at the bar and ensconced himself in a corner of the barroom where he could glower un.o.bserved at the landlord.

The latter had gone to the corral, but the drummer was still sitting in his chair, when, toward noon, two men entered. They were unprepossessing individuals, both of them, though one, the tall man with the black beard, had obviously just washed himself thoroughly.

Even his clothing had been scrubbed.

The drummer sniffed inquiringly. What was that elusive odour--that strange smell or rather mixture of smells? The drummer sniffed again.

"Got a cold?" growled the black-bearded man.

"No," said the drummer, sulkily.

"Then don't snuffle. I don't like snufflin', I don't. It makes me jumpy, snufflin' does. Breathe through yore mouth if yuh got to."

The look which the black-avised individual bent upon the drummer was not rea.s.suring. The wretched drummer shrank into himself and took care to breathe in an inoffensive manner. The black-bearded man was extremely sensitive about that odour, for it emanated from his own person and habiliments. Tobacco smoke had no effect upon it. It clung after the fashion of loving relations. Strong soap, scorched mola.s.ses, and singed feathers, had given birth to that odour. No wonder he was sensitive!

His companion, whose face bore numerous scratches, stared round the barroom.

"Where's the barkeep?" he grunted.

"Don't need no barkeep," announced the black-bearded man, and started to walk round the bar.

"Don't yuh?" inquired the voice of the landlord. "Yuh got another guess comin'. Yuh can't run no blazers in this shack, Block, an' that goes."

The eyes of the black-bearded man glowed evilly. He stopped in his tracks, his raised hand halted in the act of reaching for a bottle. He stared at the landlord standing in the doorway. The landlord stared back, his thumbs hooked in his belt.

"Get us a drink then," snarled Block, and he joined his friend in front of the bar.

"That's what I'm here for," rejoined the landlord, cheerfully. "I don't care who I serve. Why, I give that a drink awhile ago." He flicked a contemptuous thumb at the drummer.

"Hurry up!" admonished Block.

"No hurry," chirruped the landlord insultingly. "I never was in a hurry, an' I ain't goin' to begin now. What'll yuh have--milk?"

"Say," exclaimed the man with the scratched face, "are you lookin' for trouble?"