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"I comes up quick and I comes up silent, and sometimes I passes you by, and sometimes" — he leaned close to my face—"I bites!"

"Mr. Snake accords us the honor of his custom at our establishment every day, but we are not the only ones, because he maintains what you might call a route or a round that takes in something on the order of eight or ten establishments of all varieties and characters. Mr. Snake does seem to remember two men and a boy boasting of shooting a man in Kansas Territory who held sentiments that were repugnant to their own—"

"Now," said the River Snake, "it was toward dark, because I saw them as they was goin’ in, and I was goin’ in at the same time, and I noted that the sun was a-settin’, because, you know, you got to get yourself right every day, or you can get all turned around. Once, I got to a point where I was so turned around thet I was awake when I couldn’t get no whiskey, and I swore ..." He trailed off, then looked at me, then said, "Well, if it was about dark, then I would of been goin’ into the California—"

"Which is situated down by the river," said the bartender.

"And Joab, who’s down there—"

"Employed in serving up refreshment for the patrons—"

"He been there a year or more, and you know, he never takes a drop, so he would remember everything them boys had to say. But they was pleased with themself, I’ll say!"

I must have gasped, for I felt an inner constriction that was almost a swoon at the thought of their pleasure. The bartender turned a frankly inquisitive look upon me and said, "Plenty of the rougher sort down there, you know. Some of us hesitate to go amongst them."

"Them Kickapoo Rangers they had useta come down there," recollected the River Snake. "I stayed away from them boys while they was comin’ in there. Almost decided to keep away from the California altogether, but it don’t do to change your ways. That’s how I got turned around that time."

I said, or croaked, "May I buy you a whiskey, Mr. Snake?"

"Well," he said, "anybody may buy me a whiskey. An’t often anybody does, though, haw haw!"

The bartender poured out another of those little glasses, and the River Snake picked it up and seemed to throw it into his own face, except that his mouth was open to receive it. He then said, "Whew! Well, son, I’ll walk ya down there, even though it’s early in the day. I do believe I need a change."

I said, "Thank you, Mr. Snake."

The bartender watched us hard, his eyes following us out the door.

The sunshine of afternoon nearly knocked me over. The River Snake actually staggered, but he caught himself, then said, "Son, I don’t know if I kin make it down there this time of day, but let me give it a try."

"I need to get my horse."

"That would be good. That’d be very good."

When I brought Athens over, the River Snake leaned against him, and he half turned his face into the horse’s shoulder as we walked slowly along. I would say that we made a strange picture, but that would imply that someone among the teeming busy throngs of Kansas City was looking at us.

At the California, the River Snake seemed to revive. At any rate, he woke up, told me to stay outside, opened the door, and returned a moment later with the bartender, who was all business. He certainly did remember that party of men, he said, as if he prided himself on his excellent memory and was pleased to show it off. Two bearded men and a beardless boy. "They was celebratin’ a blow struck against the evil interloper," said the bartender.

"Was one of ’em named ..." Nothing came to me, and then: "Abel?"

"Well, I don’t know about that. One of ’em called another one ’Samson,’ but I don’t know if that was the given name or the last name, and they used the name Chaney, too, I think." That could be either, also, I realized.

But I was amazed at the success of my investigation. I had the wit to put a few coins in the bartender’s hand, as a gesture toward the River Snake, and then to croak out my thanks, but after that, all I could do was get on Athens and give