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 of it. The old man was sitting behind the counter in his chair, his empty bench before him, his tools lying where he had put them down, a partly finished boot standing on the floor. The only indication that Uncle Boley had any interest at all left in his business was the waxed-end which he held in his mouth, dark-trailing over his white beard.

"Well, Texas, you're back, and hell's to pay—hel-l's to pay!"

Uncle Boley was disturbed beyond anything in his carriage that Texas ever had witnessed. He got up, rather hurriedly, chewing on the thread as if he would bite it in two, shook his head, sighed. Texas was alarmed. He felt a coldness as of some approaching dread come over him as he hurried forward.

"What's the matter, Uncle Boley? What's happened, sir?"

"Hell's to pay and no pitch hot!" said Uncle Boley gloomily. "They've fired Sallie."

"Fired her? You don't tell me, sir! What reason in this world could they—"

"For bein' seen walkin' along the street with a feller called Texas Hartwell, the most suspicioned feller this side of No Man's Land."

"Can it be possible that I have brought this calamity to Miss Sallie, sir?"

Texas stood before the old man, his face blood-