scratched, a candle lit, and one of the men in the other bed looked
round the room. At this point I committed the breach of etiquette of
asking questions. "I wonder why they took Bill," I said. There was no
answer, and I repeated, "I wonder why they took Bill." "Well," said the
man with the candle, dryly, "I reckon they wanted him," and with that
he blew out the candle and conversation ceased. Later I discovered that
Bill in a fit of playfulness had held up the Northern Pacific train at
a near-by station by shooting at the feet of the conductor to make him
dance. This was purely a joke on Bill's part, but the Northern Pacific
people possessed a less robust sense of humor, and on their complaint
the United States Marshal was sent after Bill, on the ground that by
delaying the train he had interfered with the mails.

The only time I ever had serious trouble was at an even more primitive
little hotel than the one in question. It was also on an occasion when
I was out after lost horses. Below the hotel had merely a bar-room, a
dining-room, and a lean-to kitchen; above was a loft with fifteen or
twenty beds in it. It was late in the evening when I reached the place.
I heard one or two shots in the bar-room as I came up, and I disliked
going in. But there was nowhere else to go, and it was a cold night.
Inside the room were several men, who, including the bartender, were
wearing the kind of smile worn by men who are making believe to like
what they don't like. A shabby individual in a broad hat with a cocked
gun in each hand was walking up and down the floor talking with strident
profanity. He had evidently been shooting at the clock, which had two or
three holes in its face.

He was not a "bad man" of the really dangerous type, the true man-killer
type, but he was an objectionable creature, a would-be bad man, a bully
who for the moment was having things all his own way. As soon as he saw