“The whiskey’s your side,” said Barker.  “Go on.”

“But, Doc, my courage has quit me.  They see what I’m thinking about just like I was a tenderfoot trying his first bluff.  I can’t stick it out no more, and I’m going to see her, come what will.

“I’ve got to.  I’m going to ride right up to her window and shoot off ‘Neighbor,’ and if she don’t come out I’ll know—­”

A knocking came at the Governor’s room, and Judge Slaghammer entered.  “Not been to our dance, Governor?” said he.

The Governor thought that perhaps he was tired, that perhaps this evening he must forego the pleasure.

“It may be wiser.  In your position it may be advisable,” said the coroner.  “They’re getting on rollers over there.  We do not like trouble in Drybone, but trouble comes to us—­as everywhere.”

“Shooting,” suggested his Excellency, recalling his hospital practice.

“Well, Governor, you know how it is.  Our boys are as big-hearted as any in this big-hearted Western country.  You know, Governor.  Those generous, warm-blooded spirits are ever ready for anything.”

“Especially after Mrs. Slaghammer’s whiskey,” remarked the Governor.

The coroner shot a shrewd eye at Wyoming’s chief executive.  It was not politically harmonious to be reminded that but for his wife’s liquor a number of fine young men, with nothing save youth untrained and health the matter with them, would to-day be riding their horses instead of sleeping on the hill.  But the coroner wanted support in the next campaign.  “Boys will be boys,” said he.  “They ain’t pulled any guns to-night.  But I come away, though.  Some of ’em’s making up pretty free to Mrs. Lusk.  It ain’t suitable for me to see too much.  Lusk says he’s after you,” he mentioned incidentally to Lin.  “He’s fillin’ up, and says he’s after you.”  McLean nodded placidly, and with scant politeness.  He wished this visitor would go.  But Judge Slaghammer had noticed the whiskey.  He filled himself a glass.  “Governor, it has my compliments,” said he.  “Ambrosier.  Honey-doo.”

“Mrs. Slaghammer seems to have a large gathering,” said Barker.

“Good boys, good boys!” The judge blew importantly, and waved his arm.  “Bull-whackers, cow-punchers, mule-skinners, tin-horns.  All spending generous.  Governor, once more!  Ambrosier.  Honey-doo.”  He settled himself deep in a chair, and closed his eyes.

McLean rose abruptly.  “Good-night,” said he.  “I’m going to Separ.”

“Separ!” exclaimed Slaghammer, rousing slightly.  “Oh, stay with us, stay with us.”  He closed his eyes again, but sustained his smile of office.

“You know how well I wish you,” said Barker to Lin.  “I’ll just see you start.”

Forthwith the friends left the coroner quiet beside his glass, and walked toward the horses through Drybone’s gaping quadrangle.  The dead ruins loomed among the lights of the card-halls, and always the keen jockey cadences of the fiddle sang across the night.  But a calling and confusion were set up, and the tune broke off.