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So it looked as if he would not be in the marauding party until he reached his second-story room and saw Mr. Beavers again preparing his automatic for a call on the Meredith girl. Abner looked longingly at the blued-steel firearm and at last said, "Look here, Tug, d'reckon you'll haff to use that to-night?" Mr. Beavers turned his eyes deliberately toward Abner with an effect of immense courage.

"Don't know, if anybody wants to try me out, this is a free country."

"I knowed you wasn't skeered," explained Abner quickly. "I was thinkin' about somepin else." He halted irresolutely.

"What else?"

"Well, the boys are goin' to run the folks out of church to-night, an' me not havin' no gun . . ."

"You ort to git one."

"Good God, don't I know that!" assented Abner fervently.

"A man goin' around without a gun looks kinder sissy."

"I ain't sissy, Tug; I've been jest dead pore all my life. I ain't had no chanst to fix myse'f up."

There was something plaintive in Abner's tone and position. Tug made inarticulate sounds and continued preparing for his evening call.

"If you wuz shore you wouldn't need yore gun. Tug . . ." resumed Abner hopelessly. "I hate like hell to jest set here till bedtime . . . nothin' to do . . . they don't go to bed here in town till nine or ten noway. . . . "

Now Mr. Beavers had developed a certain sympathy for this poorhouse lad he had picked up on the road to Irontown. He looked at his automatic, pulled his face to one side, scratched his head.

"Ab," he drawled, "I hate like hell to discommode you, but why in the hell ain't you got a gun?"

"I told you already, Tug."

"Oh, hell, here it is, take it along. Know how to work it?"