“And while he was talking, along comes a bo and gives us a once-over.  He knew me.  ’Is this here a friend of yours, Lefty? he says.

“‘Sure,’ says I.

“’Then, he’s in Dutch.  He trimmed that old dad, and the dad is one of Donnegan’s pals.  Wait till Donnegan hears how your friend made the cards talk while he was skinning the old boy!

“He passes me the wink and goes on.  Made me sick.  I turned to Suds, and the fool hadn’t batted an eye.  Never even heard of Donnegan.  You know how it is?  Half the road never heard of it; part of the roads don’t know nothin’ else.  He’s like a jumpin tornado; hits every ten miles and don’t bend a blade of grass in between.

“Took me about five minutes to tell Suds about Donnegan.  Then Suds let out a grunt and started down the trail for the old dad.  Missed him.  Dad had got out of the Jungle and copped a rattler.  Suds come back half green and half yeller.

“‘I’ve done it; I’ve spilled the beans,’ he says.

“‘That ain’t half sayin’ it,’ says I.

“Well, we lit out after that and beat it down the line as fast as we could.  We got the rest of the boys together; I had a swell job planned up.  Everything staked.  Then, the first news come that Donnegan was after Suds.

“News just dropped on us out of the sky.  Suds, you know how he is.  Strong bluff.  Didn’t bat an eye.  Laughed at this Donnegan.  Got a hold of an old pal of his, named Levine, and he is a mighty hot scrapper.  From a knife to a toenail, they was nothing that Levine couldn’t use in a fight.  Suds sent him out to cross Donnegan’s trail.

“He crossed it, well enough.  Suds got a telegram a couple days later saying that Levine had run into a wild cat and was considerable chawed and would Suds send him a stake to pay the doctor?

“Well, after that Suds got sort of nervous.  Didn’t take no interest in his work no more.  Kept a weather eye out watching for the coming of Donnegan.  And pretty soon he up and cleaned out of camp.

“Next day, sure enough, along comes Donnegan and asks for Suds.  We kept still—­all but Kennebec Lou.  Kennebec is some fighter himself.  Two hundred pounds of mule muscle with the brain of a devil to tell what to do—­yes, you can lay it ten to one that Kennebec is some fighter.  That day he had a good edge from a bottle of rye he was trying for a friend.

“He didn’t need to go far to find trouble in Donnegan.  A wink and a grin was all they needed for a password, and then they went at each other’s throats.  Kennebec made the first pass and hit thin air; and before he got back on his heels, Donnegan had hit him four times.  Then Kennebec jumped back and took a fresh start with a knife.”

Here Lefty Joe paused and sighed.

He continued, after a long interval:  “Five minutes later we was all busy tyin’ up what was left of Kennebec; Donnegan was down the road whistlin’ like a bird.  And that was the end of my gang.  What with Kennebec Lou and Suds both gone, what chance did I have to hold the boys together?”