They were disputing about the rainfall, which had been slightly under half an inch in a few spots, but over it in many others; and while we stood talking in the renewed sunlight, more telegrams were brought to Jode, saying that there was no moisture anywhere, and simultaneously with these, riders dashed into town with the news that twelve miles out the rain had flattened the grain crop.  We had more of such reports from as far as thirty miles, and beyond that there had not been a drop or a cloud.  It staggered one’s reason; the brain was numb with surprise.

“Well, gentlemen,” said the rain-maker, “I’m packed up, and my train’ll be along soon—­would have been along by this, only it’s late.  What’s the word as to my three hundred and fifty dollars?”

Even still there were objections expressed.  He had not entirely performed his side of the contract.

“I think different, gentlemen,” said he.  “But I’ll unpack and let that train go.  I can’t have the law on you, I suppose.  But if you don’t pay me” (the rain-maker put his hands in his pockets and leaned against the fence) “I’ll flood your town.”

In earthquakes and eruptions people end by expecting anything; and in the total eclipse that was now over all Cheyenne’s ordinary standards and precedents the bewildered community saw in this threat nothing more unusual than if he had said twice two made four.  The purse was handed over.

“I’m obliged,” said Hilbrun, simply.

“If I had foreseen, gentlemen,” said Jode, too deeply grieved now to feel anger, “that I would even be indirectly associated with your losing your money through this—­this absurd occurrence, I would have declined to help you.  It becomes my duty,” he continued, turning coldly to the inebriated Lusk, “to hand this to you, sir.”  And the assistant lurchingly stuffed his stakes away.

“It’s worth it,” said Lin.  “He’s welcome to my cash.”

“What’s that you say, Lin McLean?” It was the biscuit-shooter, and she surged to the front.

“I’m broke.  He’s got it.  That’s all,” said Lin, briefly.

“Broke!  You!” She glared at her athletic young lord, and she uttered a preliminary howl.

At that long-lost cry Lusk turned his silly face.  “It’s my darling Kate,” he said.  “Why, Kate!”

The next thing that I knew Ogden and I were grappling with Lin McLean; for everything had happened at once.  The bride had swooped upon her first wedded love and burst into tears on the man’s neck, which Lin was trying to break in consequence.  We do not always recognize our benefactors at sight.  They all came to the ground, and we hauled the second husband off.  The lady and Lusk remained in a heap, he foolish, tearful, and affectionate; she turned furiously at bay, his guardian angel, indifferent to the onlooking crowd, and hurling righteous defiance at Lin.  “Don’t yus dare lay yer finger on my husband, you sage-brush bigamist!” is what the marvelous female said.