fit for Fifth Avenue--standing now in front of the old hotel in Eagle
Butte.

The smoke on the northeastern sky-line was yet some miles away.

The lanky marshal had reached the station.

"It's a good thing there's prohibition in this town," Skinny muttered as
he stepped from the car and started brushing the dust from his coat;

"Why?"

"'Cause I'd go get drunk if there wasn't--. Wonder if a feller could get
any boot-leg liquor?"

"Better leave it alone," Old Heck warned, "that kind's worse than none.
It don't make you drunk--just gives you the hysterical hydrophobia!'

"Well, I'd drink anything in an emergency like this if I had it,"
Skinny declared doggedly.

"Train's comin'," Old Heck said shortly; "reckon we'd better go over to
the depot--"

"Let's wait here till they get off first," Skinny said. "We can see them
from where we are and kind of size 'em up and it won't be so sudden."

"Maybe that would be better," Old Heck answered.

A moment later Number Seventeen, west-bound Santa Fe passenger train,