Partners of Chance

ting Bartley, but he soon put her at her ease with some amusing stories of Eastern experiences. The dinner concluded with an invitation from Mrs. Brown that anticipated Bartley visiting the ranch and

baggage, as Bartley had forwarde

en. But he knew that he would eventually go away from there--from the untidy town, the railroad, the string of box-cars on the siding, and seek the new, the unexpected, an experience to be had only by kicking loose from convention and stepping out for himself. He thought of writin

soft, muffled tread of horses and a distinct word or two of the song. He leaned forward, interested, amused, alert. The voice was a big voice, mellowed by distance. There w

nd once for

ays of l

to seein'

bed-wire fenc

once--but the

y of room

idin' the ol

lace is home

old plac

of the wall of dusk that edged the strip of road loomed a horse's head, and then another. The lead horse bore a pack. The second horse was ridde

lass. I stop at the Antelope House, take a look at her, and then spread my roll i

lighted his cigar. The pa

Now I didn't see y

y 'stranger' when you

kewise that's where I'm goin'. This here town of Antelope got in the way--towns is always gittin' in my way--

m to be the only one a

the brim of his faded black Stetson and sighed heavily. Bartley caught a glimpse of a face as care-free as that of a happy child--the twinkle of

heard of you--but I heard you down

when it's handy. Singin' sure keeps a fellow's appetite from goin' to sleep. Guess I'

al hou

before yesterday. But I aim to catch up--and mebby get ahead a couple of eats, some day. Bu

aracter for a story No doubt the song was more or less autobiographical. "A top-hand once, but the trail for mine," seemed to explain the singer's some

k, singing something about

go over and hunt up Wishful. I reckon you'll have to excuse me fo

d. "Would you mind

and lookin' at the dark, that you was kind of lonesome. I said I reckoned you'd

. I'll buy. I'll t

of hate to drink alone,

t is all right to leave. The door is wide open

rphan, to-night.

rtl

ul 'round here. And strangers wouldn't last long that tried to lift anything from his tepe

caugh

uld travel out of here, before somebody'd get him? Anyhow

look very warli

e'd been hit on the roof and hadn't come to,

N

ethin' comin', besid

ized man, was surprised to realize that the other was all of a he

wn?" queried Bartley as he strode al

. Why, last election I wore out a pair of jeans lopin' around this here country campaignin' for Steve. See this hat? Steve give me this hat--a genuwine J.B., the best they make.

hink of it, he did mention your name--'C

kin' for a g

But I hope to see so

ostly. But right now I'm flat br

s. Brown some day. Their ranc

the Concho road. I'm

it later," said Bartley

ch stood Wishful evidently about to make a throw with the dice. No one paid the slightest attention to the arrival of Bartl

ound the table. Out of the corner of his eye Bartley saw the proprietor touch Cheyenne's arm and, leaning across the bar, whisper something

nkle in the blue eyes. Bartley stepped over to the long table and watched the game. Craps, played by these free-handed sons of the open, ha

across the board. The players laughed as Wishful relinquished the dice. A lean outlander, with a scarred face, took up the dice an

amazed Bartley. Hitherto craps had meant to him three or four newsboys in an alley and a lit

se free-moving sons of the mesa. So he contented himself with watching the game and the faces of the men as they won or lost. Bartley felt that some one was close beh

saw several of the men glance curiously from Cheyenne to the man known as "Panhandle." T

e," said Bartley,

said Cheyenne as Bartley step

emarked that he would back Cheyenne to win--"shootin' with either hand," Wishful concluded. Bartley noticed that aga

was beaded with sweat. His eyes glistened. He forgot his song. Bartley stepped over to the

dled to a small group--'Wishful, the man called "Panha

rned to a

o be having all t

friend

him until

you think," stated t

is

he scar on his face, ain't

I s

nd left. Cheyenne threw and won. He played as though the dice were his and he was giving an exhibition for the benefit of the other players. Finally the engineer quit, and counte

ry throw was a, sort of insidious insult to his competitor, Cheyenne. Bartley was more interested in the p

ley and touched his arm. Panhandle and

of the table," said Wishful mildl

p, his face expre

red Wishful. "Accordin' to that, you're

what you're drivin

pressed a sort of sad wonder. But then, the Easterner h

rtley noticed that he again took

p and asked Wishful if he did

se tryin' to bust his luck,"

t know," sa

ood backin'," c

ad somehow or other managed to convey an insult and a challenge in that glance, whi

to Panhandle's side of the table, leaving Cheyenne facing his competitor alone. Bartley happened to catch Cheyenne's ey

e was all but broke. Cheyenne kept rolling the bones, but now he evoked

red them to his right hand. Hitherto he had been shootin

" murmure

Wishful. "I don't see any of your

the next game," st

rew a handful of bills from the pile and counted them. "Fifty," he

enne, picking up the

third try. Panhandle reached t

him. "You can't play on that money," he stated t

about it," challenged Panh

e is mine, according to agreem

xclaimed Panhandle. "Go on and shoot, you yella-bell

d Bartley quietly. "

h out of this,

table--and then tell

his gun, hesitated, and then w

own gun and rapped Panhandle on th

d. Panhandle was on the floor, literally down and out. Bartley was surpr

don't want any rough stuff in here. And if I were

rnin'." Cheyenne was cool

e was revived and helped from the saloon. His former attitude of belligerency had en

g in this town, and you can't go slappin' any of my guests in the face and get away with it. And when you gi

ad glanced back, he would have seen that Wishful had disappeared. Wishful, familiar with the ways of Panhandle and

e half of the winnings. "You staked me--and

is share of the money and

you," stated Cheyenne,

en, accepted the invitation. Wishful, not at all shaken, but rathe

ntending to take one good punch at Panhandle, even if it were his last. But Panhandle had crumpled down suddenly, silently, and Wishful had stood over him, gazing down speculatively

head. He had been in Antelope but two days and yet it seemed that months had passed since he had stepped from the