The game continued until the striking of the clock startled the guest.
“Midnight!” he cried. “Thirty miles before I get to bed–no, no, I can’t stay with you to-night –much obliged, all the same.”
He clapped his sombrero on his head and started for the door: “Well, better luck next time, Jim–three twenty-four hands shore did make a difference. Right where they were needed, too. So long.”
“Sorry you won’t stay, Tom,” called his friend from the door as the foreman mounted. “You might just as well, you know.”
“I’m sorry, too, but I’ve got to be on hand to-morrow–anyway, it’s bright moonlight–so long!” he cried as he cantered away.
“Hey, Tom!” cried the sheriff, leaping from the porch and running to the gate. “Tom!”
“Hullo, what is it?” asked the foreman, drawing rein and returning.
“Smoke this on your way, it’ll seem shorter,” said the sheriff, holding out a cigar.
“By George, I will!” laughed Blake. “That’s fine, you’re all right!”
“Be good,” cried the sheriff, watching his friend ride down the street.