Curly's lip was bleeding generously; the side
of his face seemed to have slipped out of place, and his left eye was
closing surely and rapidly.
"Get up," said the tall man calmly. "There is more where that came from,
if you want it."
The cowboy grinned painfully. "I ain't hankerin' after any more," he
mumbled, feeling his face tenderly.
"It said that my name was Patches," suggested the stranger.
"Sure, Mr. Patches, I reckon nobody'll question that."
"Honorable Patches," again prompted the stranger.
"Yes, sir. You bet; Honorable Patches," agreed Curly with emphasis.
Then, as he painfully regained his feet, he held out his hand with as
nearly a smile as his battered features would permit. "Do you mind
shaking on it, Mr. Honorable Patches? Just to show that there's no hard
feelin's?"
Patches responded instantly with a manner that won Curly's heart.
"Good!" he said. "I knew you would do that when you understood, or I
wouldn't have bothered to show you my credentials."
"My mistake," returned Curly. "It's them there credentials of yourn, not
your name, that's hell."
He gingerly mounted his horse again, and Patches turned back to the Dean
as though apologizing for the interruption.
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