"If he does, yu oughter be lynched," consoled Lefty.

"Well, so long," remarked Frenchy, riding off to a small store,
where he bought a cheap sombrero.

Frenchy was a jack-of-all-trades, having been cow-puncher,
prospector, proprietor of a "hotel" in Albuquerque, foreman of a
ranch, sheriff, and at one time had played angel to a venturesome but
poor show troupe. Beside his versatility he was well known as the man
who took the stage through the Sioux country when no one else
volunteered. He could shoot with the best, but his one pride was the
brand of poker he handed out. Furthermore, he had never been known to
take an unjust advantage over any man and, on the contrary, had
frequently voluntarily handicapped himself to make the event more
interesting. But he must not be classed as being hampered with self-
restraint.

His reasons for making this trip were two-fold: he wished to see
Buck Peters, the foreman of the Bar-20 outfit, as he and Buck had
punched cows together twenty years before and were firm friends; the
other was that he wished to get square with Hopalong Cassidy, who had
decisively cleaned him out the year before at poker. Hopalong played
either in great good luck or the contrary, while Frenchy played an
even, consistent game and usually left off richer than when he began,
and this decisive defeat bothered him more than he would admit, even
to himself.

The round-up season was at hand and the Bar-20 was short of ropers,
the rumors of fresh gold discoveries in the Black Hills having drawn
all the more restless men north. The outfit also had a slight touch of