Bartley smiled. "The road for mine," he quoted.

Cheyenne nodded. "Reckon I'll go see how the hosses are makin' it."

"I'll walk over with you," said Bartley.

As they came out of the livery barn again, Bartley happened to glance at
the lighted doorway of the cantina opposite. From within the saloon came
the sound of glasses clinking occasionally, and voices engaged in lazy
conversation. Cheyenne fingered the dice in his pocket and hummed a
tune. Slowly he moved toward the lighted doorway, and Bartley walked
beside him.

"I got a thirst," stated Cheyenne.

Bartley laughed. "Well, as we are about to dissolve partnership, I don't
mind taking one myself."

"Tough joint," declared Cheyenne as he stepped up to the doorway.

"All the better," said Bartley.

A young rancher, whose team stood at the hitch-rail, nodded pleasantly
as they entered.

"Mescal," said Cheyenne, and he laid a silver dollar on the bar.

Bartley glanced about the low-ceilinged room. The place, poorly lighted
with oil lamps, looked sinister enough to satisfy the most hardy
adventurer, although it was supposed to be a sort of social center for