wouldn't come in. Shall we go out to him?"

The other assented, and they passed out. Joe was sitting on his
buckskin pony, gazing at the saloon with an infinite longing in his
old eyes.

"Why are you sitting there?" Tresler asked at once. Then he regretted
his question.

"Wal," Joe drawled, without the least hesitation, "I'm figgerin' you
oughter know by this time. Ther's things born to live on liquid, an'
they've mostly growed tails. Guess I ain't growed that--yet. Mebbe
I'll git down at Doc. Osler's. An' I'll git on agin right ther'," he
added, as an afterthought.

Joe smiled as much as his twisted face would permit, but Tresler was
annoyed with himself for having forced such a confession from him.

"Well, I'm sorry I suggested it, Joe," he said quickly; "as you say, I
ought to have known better. Never mind, I want you to do me a favor."

"Name it, an' I'll do it if I bust."

The little man brightened at the thought of this man asking a favor of
him.

Tresler didn't respond at once. He didn't want to put the matter too
bluntly. He didn't want to let Joe feel that he regarded him as a
subordinate.

"Well, you see, I'm looking for some one of good experience to give me
some friendly help. You see, I've bought a nice place, and--well, in
fact, I'm setting up ranching on my own, and I want you to come and
help me with it. That's all."

Joe looked out over the market-place, he looked away at the distant
hills, his eyes turned on Doc. Osler's house; he cleared his throat
and screwed his face into the most weird shape. His eyes sought the
door of the saloon and finally came back to Tresler. He swallowed two
or three times, then suddenly thrust out his hand as though he were
going to strike his benefactor.

"Shake," he muttered hoarsely.

And Tresler gripped the proffered hand. "And perhaps you'll have that
flower-garden, Joe," he said, "without the weeds."

"Mr. Tresler, sir, shake agin."

"Never mind the 'mister' or the 'sir,'" said Tresler. "We are old
friends. Now, Fyles," he went on, turning to the officer, who had been
looking on as an interested spectator, "have you any news for Miss
Marbolt?"

"Yes, the decision's made. I've got the document here in my pocket."

"Good. But don't tell it me. Give me an hour's start of you. I'm going
to see the lady myself. And, Joe," Tresler looked up into the old
man's beaming face. "Will you come with the sheriff when he
interviews--er--our client?"

"All rig