“Howd’ye，boys？“saidsomeone，andtherewasNateBuckner。“It’sonmeto-day，“hecontinued，shovingwhiskeyalongthebar；andIsawhewasalittledrunk。“I’msetting’emup，“hecontinued。“Why？Why，because“——helookedaroundforappreciation——“becauseit’snoteveryson-of-a-guninWyominggetspardonedbyGovernorBarker。I’mimportant，Iwantyoutounderstand，“hepursuedtothecoldbystanders。“They’llhaveapictureofmeintheCheyennepaper。’TheBronco-busterofPowderRiver!’Theycan’tdowithoutme!Ifanyson-of-a-gunherethinksheknowshowtobreakacolt，“heshouted，lookingaroundwiththeirrelevantfiercenessofdrink——andthenhischallengeebbedvacantlyinlaughterasthesubjectblurredinhismind。“You’renotdrinking，Lin，“saidhe。

　　“No，“saidMcLean，“I’mnot。“

　　“Swornoffagain？Well，waterneverdidagreewithme。“

　　“Yu’nevergavewaterthechance，“retortedthecow-puncher，andwelefttheplacewithoutmyhavingdrunkhishealth。

　　Itwasagrimbeginning，thisbragattempttolaughhisreputationdown，withthejaildoorscarceclosedbehindhim。“Folksarenotgoingtolikethat，“saidLin，aswewalkedacrossthebridgeagaintothehotel。Yetthesister，leftalonehereafteranhouratmostofherbrother’scompany，wouldpretenditwasamatterofcourse。Natewasnotin，shetoldusatonce。HehadbusinesstoattendtoandfriendstoseehemustgetbacktoRiversideanddowninthatcountrywherecoltswerewaitingforhim。HewastheonlyonetheE。K。outfitwouldallowtohandletheiryoungstock。Didweknowthat？AndshewasgoingtostaywithaMrs。

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