his ha'r-copper frauds that time.

"Which the first intimations we has of Silver Phil after that escape,
is one evenin' about fifth drink time--or as you-all says 'four
o'clock.' The sun's still hot an' high over in the west. Thar's no
game goin'; but bein' it's as convenient thar as elsewhere an' some
cooler, Cherokee's settin' back of his layout with Faro Nell as usual
on her lookout perch. Dan Boggs is across the street in the dancehall
door, an' his pet best bronco is waitin' saddled in front. Hot an'
drowsy; the street save for these is deserted.

"It all takes place in a moment. Thar's a clattering rush; an' then,
pony a-muck with sweat an' alkali dust, Silver Phil shows in the
portals of the Red Light. Thar's a flash an' a spit of white smoke as
he fires his six-shooter straight at Faro Nell.

"Silver Phil is quick, but Cherokee is quicker. Cherokee sweeps Faro
Nell from her stool with one motion of his arm an' the bullet that's
searchin' for her lifts Cherokee's ha'r a trifle where he 'most gets
his head in its way.

"Ondoubted, this Silver Phil allows he c'llects on Faro Nell as
planned. He don't shoot twice, an' he don't tarry none, but wheels his
wearied pony, gives a yell, an' goes surgin' off.

"But Silver Phil's got down to the turn of that evil deal of his
existence. He ain't two hundred yards when Dan Boggs is in the saddle
an' ridin' hard. Dan's bronco runs three foot for every one of the
pony of Silver Phil's; which that beaten an' broken cayouse is eighty
miles from his last mouthful of grass.