of the town; he knew every one of them. This was home, this little corner of the earth, and beyond the lights there was the great back country. His country. Let those who wanted to live the other life; for him the long trail or the open plain, and a good horse under him.
He drew a long breath.
"Allison around?"
"Why, no. He left a message for you to go around and see him in the morning."
He went up the street to the Martin House. Ed was behind the cigar-stand desk, cleaning his finger nails with a pen-knife.
"Hello, Tom. When'd you drift in?"
"Just now, on twenty-one. Anything new?"
"I guess your coming back is the latest! Some of the fellows are upstairs."
But Tom shook his head. He had no money for poker and no inclination for a party.
"What I want's a good bed. I may be sleeping on a plank in the pen before long!"
But he discovered the next morning no immediate intention on Allison's part to curtail his liberty. He found the Sheriff in his office, a bare place with an oak desk for business and a cuspidor on a square of oilcloth for pleasure, and Allison received him without animus.
"Figured you'd be getting in about now, Tom," he said. "Have a good time?"
"Not so bad. You going to lock me up?"
"Well, I guess that's hardly necessary. We'll fix up some bail for you and let you go home. But don't take another notion to go traveling; it won't be healthy. Your man's still alive, but they throw out the doctor's stuff, and the medicine man's doing all he can to kill him. I suppose Dowling will go on your bail?"
And he was surprised to have Tom say:
"If that's the way I'm to get out you can lock me up until I rot."
"It was his beef, or so you claim."
"It was his beef all right, but I'm not taking anything
