“Wait!  Wait!” And when The Pony Express halted, he added:  “Says you to the boys at The Ridge as you ride by, the Academy at Cloudy is open to-day full blast!”

“Whoopee!  Whoop!” chimed in Trinidad and began to execute a pas seul in the middle of the room, dropping into a chair just in time to avoid running into Nick, who hurriedly returned with two glasses and a bottle.

“Help yourselves, boys,” he said; which they did to the accompaniment of a succession of joyous yells from Trinidad.

Meantime Rance had relighted the burnt-out cigar which he had been holding for some time between his fingers, and was sending curls of smoke upwards towards the ceiling.

“Academy,” he sneered.

Sonora surveyed him critically for some moments; at length he said: 

“Say, Rance, what’s the matter with you?  We began this Academy game together—­we boys an’ the Girl—­an’ there’s a damn pretty piece of sentiment back of it.  She’s taught some of us our letters, and—­”

“He’s a wearin’ mournin’ because Johnson didn’t fall alive into his hands,” interposed Trinidad with a laugh.

“Is that it?” queried Sonora.

“Ain’t it enough, Rance, that he must be lyin’ dead down some canyon, with his mouth full of snow?” A mocking smile was on Trinidad’s face as he asked the question.

“You done all you could to git ’im,” went on Sonora as if there had been no interruption.  “The boys is all satisfied he’s dead.”

“Dead?” Rance fairly picked up the word.  “Dead?  Yes, he’s dead,” he declared tensely, and unconsciously arose and went over to the window where he stood motionless, gazing through the parted curtains at the snow-covered hills.  Presently the boys saw a cynical smile spread over his face, and a moment later, he added:  “The matter with me is that I’m a Chink.”

This depreciation of himself was so thoroughly un-Rance like, that it brought forth great bursts of laughter from the men, but notwithstanding which, Rance went on to admit, in the same sullen tone, that it was all up with him and the Girl.

“Throwed ’im!” whispered Trinidad to Sonora with a pleased look on his face.

Sonora, likewise, was beaming with joy when almost instantly he turned to Nick with: 

“As sure’s you live she’s throwed ’im for me!”

Nick, among his other accomplishments, had a faculty for dumbness and said nothing; but a smile which approached a grin formed on his face as he stood eyeing quizzically first one and then the other.  Finally, picking up the empty glasses, he left the room.

“Will old dog Tray remember me”—­immediately sung out Trinidad, gleefully.  While Sonora, in the seventh heaven of delight, began to caper about the room.  Of a sudden Nick poked his head in through the door to inquire into the cause of their hilarity, but they ignored him completely.  At the bar-room door, however, Sonora halted and, glancing over his shoulder in the Sheriff’s direction, he added in a most tantalising manner: