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The tin cup flew from the saloon man’s hand. A shout of laughter rose from the crowd at the two games; then the pool-balls clicked again and–

“Raise you ten,” a poker-player said.

Breckenbridge’s guide beckoned to the man who had done the shooting. He came across the room, shoving his gun back into the holster, a rather thickly built man but well-knit and there was a soft spring in his slowest movements which suggested snake-like quickness. He was dark-eyed, and his hair was a mat of close black curls. The cattle-buyer nodded, to indicate the introduced one.

“This,” he said, “is Mr. Breckenbridge, one of Johnny Behan’s deputies.”

And–

“This is Curly Bill.”

Young Breckenbridge smiled as usual and stretched forth his right hand. But the eyes of Curly Bill were narrow and his hand came out slowly. There was that in his whole manner which said he was on guard, watching every movement of the deputy.

And for this there was good reason. It was not long since Curly Bill had stood in very much the same attitude on Tombstone’s street facing Town Marshal White, the only difference being that his right hand on that occasion had been proffering his pistol, butt foremost, to the officer. And in the passing of the instant while Marshal White had touched the weapon with his fingertips the forty-five had swiftly reversed ends, to spit forth one leaden slug.

The officer had dropped in the dust of the roadway and Curly Bill had ridden out of town with a thousand dollars on his head. A thousand dollars was a thousand dollars and there was no telling what a man who wore a nickel-plated star might have up his sleeve.

“Mr. Breckenbridge,” the cattle-buyer said as the two palms met, “is here on civil business.”

The eyes of Curly Bill resumed their normal shape. His fingers tightened over the deputy’s.

“Howdy,” he said. “What yo’ going to have?”

While the sting of the cow-town whisky was still rankling in their throats a man entered the front door.

“Oh, Bill,” he called across the room, “your hoss is daid.”

Deserting the bar to delve into this mystery, they found the outlaw’s pony stretched out beside the hitching-rack near the rear of the building. The owner cast one glance at the dead animal; then his eyes went to a shattered window.

“‘Twas when I shot that cup from Shorty’s hand.”

He shrugged his big shoulders and, with a grin–

“Plenty more good ponies in the valley–and the nights are moonlight now.”

When they were back facing the battered bar young Breckenbridge explained, his business in no-man’s-land.

“And this end of the county,” he wound up, “is sort of rough. If I’d ride around alone, packing that money, somebody’s liable to get the best of me when I’m not looking for it. I’ve got to have a good man along to help take care of that roll. And I’d admire to have you make the trip with me.”

Curly Bill was a great deal slower at thinking than he was at drawing his gun and there was much food for thought in that bold proposition. He gazed at young Breckenbridge for some moments in silence. Gradually his lips relaxed. Smiling, he turned and addressed the occupants of the room.

“Boys,” he cried, “line up.”

And when the line was formed before the bar he waved his hand.

“This here’s the deputy sheriff, come to collect the taxes in our end of the county; and I aim to help him do the job up right.”

By what means Curly Bill supplied himself with a new pony this chronicler does not know. But it is a fact that the outlaw rode forth from Galeyville the next day along with Johnny Behan’s deputy, to guide the latter through the Sulphur Springs valley and the San Simon–and to guard the county’s funds.

Travel was slow in those days; accommodations were few and far between. Outlaw and deputy jogged down the long, glaring flats enshrouded in the dust-fog which rose from their ponies’ hoofs; mile after mile of weary riding under a scorching sun. They climbed by winding trails through narrow canyons where the heat-waves jigged endlessly among the naked rocks. They camped by lonely water-holes and shared each other’s blankets under the big yellow stars.