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 not gamble and did not haunt saloons for the purpose of swallowing the early cocktail, were not afraid of either of them. I knew such a one in Painted Rock, and he was a student of humanity, though he would have been indignant and suspicious if one had called him a psychologist. We often talked of Ben, and sometimes Sage-brush too.

"I'd like 'em to collide," said the Colonel; "I'd love to see a head-on collision between these two steers. I'm a quiet man and peaceful now, Charlie, but there are times I hanker after my long-lost youth and the right hand I lost at Gettysburgh. Yes, sir, I hanker after it. A man with no right claw hez to be peaceful and good, when no manner of practice can make his left hand shoot straight."

He sighed rather bitterly, and I encouraged him.

"You've had your time. Colonel. And now Ben Williams is having his."

"I'd admire to see his sun set," replied old Webb, caressing the stump of his right hand. "He threatened to blow a hole through little