burst inward, and an agonized Joy fled, flapping out into the night,
while behind him rolled the caricature from Bar X.

"I just stopped for a drink of water," boomed the dwarf, then paused
at the twitching face of the sheriff.

He swelled ominously, like a great pigeon, purple and congested with
rage. Strutting to the new-comer, he glared insolently up into his
smiling face,

"What are ye laughin' at, ye shavetail?" His hands were clenched,
till his arms showed tense and rigid, and the cords in his neck were
thickly swollen.

"Lemme in on it, I'm strong on humour. What in ---- ails ye?" he
yelled, in a fury, as the tall young man gazed fixedly, and the
glasses rattled at the bellow from the barreled-up lungs.

"I'm not laughing at you," said the sheriff.

"Oh, ain't ye?" mocked the man of peace. "Well, take care that ye
don't, ye big wart, or I'll trample them new clothes and browse
around on some of your features. I'll take ye apart till ye look
like cut feed. Guess ye don't know who I am, do ye? I'm--"

"Who is this man, Ross?" came the anxious voice of the bride,
descending the stairs.

The little man spun like a dancer, and, spying the girl, blushed to
the colour of a prickly pear, then stammered painfully, while the