"Good-evening, boys," he said. "Why, Toussaint, how do you do?"

The hand of Toussaint had made a slight, a very slight, movement towards
his hip, but at sight of Cutler's mellow smile resumed its clasp upon his
knee.

"Golly, but you're gay-like this evening," said Kelley.

"Blamed if I knowed he could look so frisky," added Loomis.

"Sporting his onced-a-year coat," Kelley pursued. "That ain't for our
benefit, Joole."

"No, we're not that high in society." Both these cheerful waifs had
drifted from the Atlantic coast westward.

Cutler looked from them to his costume, and then amiably surveyed the
half-breed.

"Well, boys, I'm in big luck, I am. How's yourn nowadays, Toussaint?"

"Pretty good sometime. Sometime heap hell." The voice of the half-breed
came as near heartiness as its singularly false quality would allow, and
as he smiled he watched Cutler with the inside of his eyes.

The scout watched nobody and nothing with great care, looked about him
pleasantly, inquired for the whiskey, threw aside hat and gloves, sat
down, leaning the chair back against the wall, and talked with artful
candor. "Them sprigs of lieutenants down there," said he, "they're a
surprising lot for learning virtue to a man. You take Balwin. Why, he