"Yes," agreed Bob. "Wish I could hire you to throw a monkey wrench in
that engine over there. Its chuggin' keeps me awake."

"I'll bet it does. Well, young fellow, you can't hire me or anybody else
to stop it," retorted Doble, an edge to his voice.

"Well, I just mentioned it," murmured Hart. "I don't aim to rile yore
feelin's. We'll talk of somethin' else.... Hope you enjoyed that reunion
this week with yore old friend, absent far, but dear to memory ever."

"Referrin' to?" demanded Doble with sharp hostility.

"Why, Ad Miller, Dug."

"Is he a friend of mine?"

"Ain't he?"

"Not that I ever heard tell of."

"Glad of that. You won't miss him now he's lit out."

"Oh, he's lit out, has he?"

"A li'l bird whispered to me he had."

"When?"

"This evenin', I understand."

"Where'd he go?"

"He didn't leave any address. Called away on sudden business."

"Did he mention the business?"

"Not to me." Bob turned to his friend. "Did he say anything to you about
that, Dave?"

In the silence one might have heard a watch tick, Doble leaned forward,
his body rigid, danger written large in his burning eyes and clenched
fist.

"So you're back," he said at last in a low, harsh voice.

"I'm back."

"It would 'a' pleased me if they had put a rope round yore neck, Mr.
Convict."

Dave made no comment. Nobody could have guessed from his stillness how
fierce was the blood pressure at his temples.

"It's a difference of opinion makes horse-races, Dug," said Bob lightly.

The big ex-foreman rose snarling. "For half a cent I'd gun you here and
now like you did George."

Sanders looked at him steadily, his hands hanging loosely by his sides.

"I wouldn't try that, Dug," warned Hart. "Dave ain't armed, but I am. My
hand's on my six-shooter right this minute. Don't make a mistake."

The ex-foreman glared at him. Doble was a strong, reckless devil of a
fellow who feared neither God nor man. A primeval savagery burned in
his blood, but like most "bad" men he had that vein of caution in his
make-up which seeks to find its victim at disadvantage. He knew Hart too
well to doubt his word. One cannot ride the range with a man year in,
year out, without knowing whether the iron is in his arteries.

"Declarin' yoreself in on this, are you?" he demanded ominously, showing
his teeth.

"I've always been in on it, Dug. Took a hand at the first deal, the day
of the race. If you're lookin' for trouble with Dave, you'll find