“‘Walk fast,’ says Perry, ’it’s two minutes to seven, and I got to be home by—­’

“‘Oh, shut up,’ says I.  ’I had an appointment as chief performer at an inquest at seven, and I’m not kicking about not keeping it.’

“I had to pass by Perry’s little house.  His Mariana was standing at the gate.  We got there at five minutes past seven.  She had on a blue wrapper, and her hair was pulled back smooth like little girls do when they want to look grown-folksy.  She didn’t see us till we got close, for she was gazing up the other way.  Then she backed around, and saw Perry, and a kind of a look scooted around over her face—­danged if I can describe it.  I heard her breathe long, just like a cow when you turn her calf in the lot, and she says:  ’You’re late, Perry.’

“‘Five minutes,’ says Perry, cheerful.  ’Me and old Buck was having a game of checkers.’

“Perry introduces me to Mariana, and they ask me to come in.  No, sir-ee.  I’d had enough truck with married folks for that day.  I says I’ll be going along, and that I’ve spent a very pleasant afternoon with my old partner—­’especially,’ says I, just to jostle Perry, ‘during that game when the table legs came all loose.’  But I’d promised him not to let her know anything.

“I’ve been worrying over that business ever since it happened,” continued Buck.  “There’s one thing about it that’s got me all twisted up, and I can’t figure it out.”

“What was that?” I asked, as I rolled and handed Buck the last cigarette.

“Why, I’ll tell you:  When I saw the look that little woman gave Perry when she turned round and saw him coming back to the ranch safe—­why was it I got the idea all in a minute that that look of hers was worth more than the whole caboodle of us—­sarsaparilla, checkers, and all, and that the d——­n fool in the game wasn’t named Perry Rountree at all?”