But the approaching twain had been seen by other eyes than Cassidy's.
By some odd fortuity, a phonograph broke into wheezy song as the
wayfarers swung down the street. Dice began to roll invitingly across
the bars, and from a distant spot came the hollow sound of the
roulette-ball. Quite by chance, a man appeared in a doorway, holding a
glass of beer. He was seen to drain it, just as they passed. Then he
noticed them for the first time.

"Come in and cool off, boys," he suggested cordially. "It's all on
ice. Good, cold lager, boys!"

Under its mask of dust, Arkinsaw's face worked horribly. He stumbled,
loitered along the way to fix his shoe, zigzagged from one side to the
other, fumbled at his pack, and finally stopped.

"Say, Con," he rasped feebly. "Oh, Con! Say, I gotter see a feller
here. Say!" as his friend looked back at him with disconcerting doubt
written on every feature. "Say, Con!--reelly, truly I have!"

"Well, hurry up, then," replied the other, and went on his dogged way.

The instant his back was turned, the old man obliqued crabwise to the
side of the road. Fumbling nervously at his roll of bedding, he threw
it off and darted for the saloon, running and stumbling in his haste.
But at this point a large, gaunt, red-faced man, bearing a club in one
hand, appeared from nowhere in particular and fronted him.

"G'wan down the road!" said the red-faced man harshly.

"Why--why, _Cass_!" Arkinsaw bleated surprisedly. "How you did startle