The Texican

en stealing cows for eighty dollars a month and stealing for yourself, and while a moralist might fail to see the distinction it showed in its effect on Pecos's spirits. "I 'm goin' down to Geronimo," he grumbled, after an uneasy hour at the store, during which he had tried in vain the cheering power of whiskey; "you can tell Crit I 'll be back tomorrow night for my time," and without volunteering any further information he rodedown to the river, plunged across the rocky ford and was swallowed up in the desert. Two days later he returned, red-eyed and taciturn, and to all Babe's inquiries he observed that the Geronimo saloons were the worst deadfalls west of the Rio Grande, for a certainty. His mood did not improve by waiting, and when Crittenden finally rode in after his long day's work he demanded his money so brusquely that even that old-timer was startled. "Well, sho, sho, boy," he soothed, "don't git excited over nothin'! To be sure I 'll pay you your money." He went down into his overalls with commendable promptitude, but Pecos only watched him in surly silence. Something in his pose seemed to impress the shifty cowman; he drew forth a roll of bills and began to count them out, reluctantly. "Twenty, forty, sixty, eighty, a hundred ? there it is ? now what's all this racket about ?" "Nothin'," responded Pecos, stowing away the greenbacks, "but you can git somebody else to finish up that job." "Well, here," snapped the cowman, warm- ing up a little...