The stranger now lazily arose and stepped into the doorway, leaning against the jamb and shaking his holster sharply to loosen the gun for action.  He glanced quickly behind him and spoke curtly:  “Remember, now—­I am to do all the talking at this auction; you fellers just look on.”

A mumble of assent replied to him, and the townsmen craned their necks to look out.  A procession slowly wended its way up the street, led by the marshal, astride a piebald horse bearing the crude brand of the CG.  Three men followed him and numerous dogs of several colors, sizes, and ages roamed at will, in a listless, bored way, between the horse and the men.  The dust arose sluggishly and slowly dissipated in the hot, shimmering air, and a fly buzzed with wearying persistence against the dirty glass in the front window.

The marshal, peering out from under the pulled-down brim of his Stetson, looked critically at the sleepy horse standing near the open door of the Paradise and sought its brand, but in vain, for it was standing with the wrong side towards him.  Then he glanced at the man in the door, a puzzled expression stealing over his face.  He had known that man once, but time and events had wiped him nearly out of his memory and he could not place him.  He decided that the other horse could wait until he had sold the one he was on, and, stopping before the door of the Paradise, he raised his left arm, his right arm lying close to his side, not far from the holster on his thigh.

“Gentlemen an’ feller-citizens,” he began:  “As marshal of this booming city, I am about to offer for sale to the highest bidder this A Number 1 piebald, pursooant to the decree of the local court an’ with the sanction of the town council an’ the mayor.  This same sale is for to pay the town for the board an’ keep of this animal, an’ to square the fine in such cases made an’ provided.  It’s sound in wind an’ limb, fourteen han’s high, an’ in all ways a beautiful piece of hoss-flesh.  Now, gentlemen, how much am I bid for this cayuse?  Remember, before you make me any offer, that this animal is broke to punching cows an’ is a first-class cayuse.”

The crowd in the Paradise had flocked out into the street and oozed along the front of the building, while the stranger now leaned carelessly against his own horse, critically looking over the one on sale.  Fisher, uneasy and worried, squirmed close at hand and glanced covertly from his horse and saddle to the guns in the belts on the members of the crowd.

It was the stranger who broke the silence:  “Two bits I bid—­two bits,” he said, very quietly, whereat the crowd indulged in a faint snicker and a few nudges.

The marshal looked at him and then ignored him.  “How much, gentlemen?” he asked, facing the crowd again.

“Two bits,” repeated the stranger, as the crowd remained silent.