thought as much of 'em as you used to. I aimed to see if I could make
you forget to feed that cayuse."

"How about those goats in your own corral?" laughed Waring.

"Kind of a complimentary cuss, ain't he?" queried Pat, turning to his
assistant. "And he don't know a dam' thing about cucumbers."

"You old-timers give me a pain," said the assistant, grinning.

"That's right! Because you can't set down to a meal without both your
hands and feet agoing and one ear laid back, you call us old because we
chew slow. But you're right. Jim and I are getting kind of gray around
the ears."

"Well, you fellas can fight it out. I came over to say that them rurales
got their hoss. But one of 'em let it slip, in Mexican, that they
weren't through yet."

"So?" said Pat. "Well, you go ahead and feed the stock. We'll be over to
the house poco tiempo."

Waring and the collector entered the cantina. For a long time they sat
in silence, gazing at the peculiar half-lights as the sun drew down.
Finally the collector turned to Waring.

"Has the game gone stale, Jim?"

Waring nodded. "I'm through. I am going to settle down. I've had my
share of trouble."