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The disclosure of the identity of the stage-robber had overwhelmed the gambler with anguish, and he wanted to be alone to think the terrible affair over calmly. In the language of his profession, the buck was clearly up to Mr. Hennage. Twice during his eventful career the gambler had sat in poker games where an opponent had held the dead man's hand and paid the penalty.
Hastily he packed a suit-case with his few simple belongings, for in his haste he was forced to abandon his old rawhide trunk that had accompanied him in his wanderings for twenty years. But one article did Mr. Hennage remove from his trunk. It was an old magazine.
Borax O'Rourke picked the coin off the floor and shuffled out of the Silver Dollar saloon. Until one minute past four o'clock, then, the incident was closed, and Mr. Hennage returned to his interrupted game of solitaire.
Hennage on the knee with his forefinger. "I'll keep my hands off your business in the state land office. Your applications can pass through for approval, for all I care, but I'll enter a contest, alleging fraud, against you in the General Land Office at Washington, and I'll hold you up for ten years in a mass of red tape.
Five minutes later, when he hung up, he had secured the information and made careful note of it, after which he sought an arm-chair in the hotel window, planted his feet on the window sill and gave himself up to reflection. He was occupied thus when T. Morgan Carey came out of the barber shop, and seeing Mr. Hennage, came over and sat down beside him. Mr.
Hennage assured him, for no earthly reason except a desire to be perverse and not contradict his former statements. "Hu-u-m-m! I presume you know where Mr. McGraw may be found at present. Is he liable to communicate with you?" Mr. Hennage was on guard. "Well, I ain't sayin' nothin'" he replied evasively.
I told Dan to ask Harley Hennage, but you know how stupid a man is. I don't suppose he even asked." "Well, all I've got to say, Mrs. Pennycook, is that Donna Corblay's taking a mighty big interest in a man she's never even been introduced to. Still, I'm not surprised at anything she'd do, the stuck-up thing.
Hennage had once presented her with an order for a registered letter for a man by the name of Robert McGraw, and taking into consideration this fact and the further fact that birds of a feather always flock together, Miss Pickett opined that the hold- up man was doubtless a bosom friend of Mr. Hennage.
We are informed that the good people lived west of the tracks. East of the tracks it was different. The past tense is used with a full appreciation of the necessity for grammatical construction, for times have changed in San Pasqual, since it is no longer encumbered with the incubus that made this story possible Harley P. Hennage, the town gambler and the worst man in San Pasqual.
Donna's hot tears fell fast on his face as she leaned over and kissed the death-damp from his brow. "Oh-thank you" he gasped. "Bob take off my shoes I don't want to die with my boots on. New gaiters too give 'em to Sam Singer. Good Injun that." The sun had set behind the Tehachapis now, and twilight was stealing over San Pasqual. It was time for Mr. Hennage to be on his way.
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