THE KILLING OF "SWEETWATER"
"Who was that?" I asked, and Gedge stared at me with an odd, far-away look.
"I was just tryin' to recall him," said Gedge. "I don't never forget a face, and yet somehow I can't place him."
"Why should you?" asked the bar-tender. "He's a stranger, sure pop. I saw him get off the cars yesterday, and I've been in Painted Rock nigh on to three years, and I lay ten dollars he hasn't been here durin' that time."
"Well, I've seen him somewhere, I'll take an oath to that on a stack of Bibles," said Gedge. "I've been around this locality mor'n three years, my son, and mebbe I saw him twenty years ago in Georgia. I never forget a face or an injury or a good turn done me, and somehow I hev a solid based opinion that I've done more than passed the time of day with that melancholy individual that poked his head in here just now, and took a look around these deserted halls."
We had some more poison at Pillsbury's expense, and then Gedge smote the bar with his open hand. We looked at him in silence.
"I've located that stranger in my unfor-
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