the hoofs of the horses clattered on the bridge.

"Yes, I've heard--there's news," responded Jowett. "He's been lying
drunk at Gautry's caboose ever since yesterday morning at five o'clock,
when he got off the West-bound train. Nice sort of guy he is. What's
the good of being rich, if you can't be decent Some men are born low.
They always find their level, no matter what's done for them, and
Marchand's level is the ditch."

"Gautry's tavern--that joint!" exclaimed Osterhaut with repulsion.

"Well, that ranchman, Dennis What's-his-name, is looking for him, and
Felix can't go home or to the usual places. I dunno why he comes back at
all till this Dennis feller gits out."

"Doesn't make any bones about it, does he? Dennis Doane's the name,
ain't it? Marchand spoiled his wife-run away with her up along the Wind
River, eh?" asked Osterhaut.

Jowett nodded: "Yes, that's it, and Mr. Dennis Doane ain't careful;
that's the trouble. He's looking for Marchand, and blabbing what he
means to do when he finds him. That ain't good for Dennis. If he kills
Marchand, it's murder, and even if the lawyers plead unwritten law, and
he ain't hung, and his wife ain't a widow, you can't have much married
life in gaol. It don't do you any good to be punished for punishing
someone else. Jonas George Almighty--look! Look, Osterhaut!"

Jowett's hand was pointing towards the Catholic church, from a window
of which smoke was rolling. "There's going to be something to do there.
It ain't a false alarm, Snorty."