was eaten down to crumbs, and it was time for the party to leave the table.
So the very reluctant Texas found himself the center of a soirée, with husky professional men—the foreman of the railroad roundhouse was one of them—slamming his shoulder-blades, and smiling young ladies coming up and giving him timid hands, and Mrs. Goodloe showing teeth like a walrus. It was a whirl and a babble, with the dark mark of the coffee on the floor, innocent stain of the conflict with the forces of Smith, routed and dispersed forever from the threshold of the green hotel.
The initiation of Texas into the polite and respectable society of Cottonwood was at this point when a man appeared in the door through which Zebedee Smith had so lately passed to resume his reconnoiter in the Nation. He stood there with his hat in his hand, a strong perfume of violets coming from him, a fluff of white handkerchief showing most elegantly from the breast-pocket of his almost sky-blue coat.
In spite of his elegance, Texas recognized him as Dee Winch, the bow-legged man who had taken such an effective hand in his behalf when the crowd rushed him at the fair. Mrs. Goodloe went beaming over to him, her hand out in welcome.
"Well, you're a purty-lookin' feller, ain't you—
