.

"How," he inquired in a tone both mild and unsensational, "how would
you like to earn two hundred dollars?"

But the shot did not take effect as he had expected it to. Instead of
snapping back Blue Jeans' curly head sank a little lower. Though his
inward start at the query had been great his outward display of emotion
was scarcely visible. For perceiving that this was a deliberate
attempt to arouse his interest, he dissembled it and exhibited no
interest at all.

"I balk at murder," he replied with careful indifference and no flicker
of jocularity. "And it would have to be that, to earn that much money.
Two hundred dollars is a fortune; so's one; so's fifty. But I'm kind
of particular that way--though the offer is liberal--it is so! I admit
that, but I--"

He would have gone on rambling had not the other stopped him.

"Sure, it's a nice bunch of coin." And then, daring to be facetious
himself, though adhering still to his admirable and just-formed plan of
not disclosing too much at once:

"You'd not have to kill him, you know. Half of what you did to your
friend on the roan horse would be plenty and to spare."

"He was no friend of mine," Blue Jeans corrected coldly. "We'd just
barely begun to get acquainted."

"Lucky for him!" Indeed, despite his personality, the huge man had a
lively wit.

"A life-long friendship would have proved fatal!"

It made Blue Jeans' eyes twinkle though it warmed them not at all. He
didn't like the fat man and he wasn't going to try. But when the
latter showed no readiness to go back to the important topic which he
had himself introduced, he found anxiety overcoming his resolution to
remain unconcerned.

"You were speaking intimately of two hundred dollars," he drew it back
tentatively.

And then the huge man knew that it was best to be precise.

"For eighteen minutes' work," he explained. "Six rounds with young
Condit, at Estabrook, on the tenth."

"Me!" Blue Jeans blurted his surprise, it was so far from the sort of
proposition he had been prepared to hear. In spite of his habiliments
the Easterner was no new type to him, and he had been ready to dismiss
him and his project, whenever it should develop, with a satisfying
frankness which could not have been admitted here. But this tripped
him,--stripped him momentarily of his self-possession.

"Me!" he deprecated. "Pshaw! I'm no box-fighter! I don't box!"

"Sure you don't," the huge man agreed, eagerl