ready; if the Barelas failed, yonder big dust was on the way; half
your own posse would have turned on you for half a guess at the truth.
It's a real nice little world--and it hates a lie. A good many people
lay their fine-drawn plans, but they mostly don't come off! Men are
but dust, they tell us. Magnificent dust! This nice little old world
of ours, in the long run, is going right. You can't beat the Game!
Once, yes--or twice--not in the long run. The Percentage is all
against you. You can't beat the Game!"

"It's up to you, Sheriff," said Anastacio briskly. "I can turn you
over to the Bar Cross outfit and they'll hang you now; or I can turn
you over to the Barelas and you will be hung later. Dick Marr was your
friend! Take your choice. You go on down, Pringle, while the sheriff
is looking over the relative advantages of the two propositions. I
think Miss Vorhis may have something to say to you."

* * * * *

She came to meet him; Foy and the Major waited by the horses. "John!"
she said. "Faithful John!" She sought his hands.

"There now, honey--don't take on so! Don't! It's all right! You know
what the poet says:

"Cast your bread upon the waters
And you may live to say:
'Oh, how I wish I had the crust
That once I threw away!'"

Her throat was pulsing swiftly; her eyes were brimming with tears,