hinking of going up and shooting him, even though it
would be a blessing to the country," laughed his chief.

"No, but it is possible somebody else might. This town is full of
ignorant foreigners who would hardly think twice of it. If he had asked
my advice, it would have been to stay away from Mesa."

"He wouldn't have taken it," returned Ridgway carelessly. "Whatever
else is true about him, Simon Harley isn't a coward. He would have told
you that not a sparrow falls to the ground without the permission of
the distorted God he worships, and he would have come on the next
train."

"Well, it isn't my funeral," contributed Steve airily.

"All the same I'm going to pass his police patrols and pay a visit to
the third floor of the Mesa House."

"You are going to compromise with him?" cried Eaton swiftly.

"Compromise nothing, I'm going to pay a formal social call on Mrs.
Harley, and respectfully hope that she has suffered no ill effects from
her exposure to the cold."

Eaton made no comment, unless to whistle gently were one.

"You think it isn't wise?"

"Well, is it?" asked Steve.

"I think so. We'll scotch the lying tongue of rumor by a strict
observance of the conventions. Madam Grundy is padlocked when we reduce
the situation to the absurdity of the common place."

"Perhaps you are right, if it doesn't become too common commonplace."

"I think we may trust Simon Harley to see to that," answered his chief
with a grim smile "Obviously our social relations aren't likely to be
very intimate. Now it's 'Just before the battle mother,' but once the
big guns begin to boor we'll neither of us be in the mood for functions
social."

"You've established a sort of claim on him. It wouldn't surprise me if
he would meet you halfway in settling the trouble between you," said
Eaton thoughtfully.

"I expect he would," agreed Ridgway indifferently as he lit a cigar.

"Well, then?"

"The trouble is that I won't meet him halfway. I can't afford to be
reasonable, Steve. Just suppose for an instant that I had been
reasonable five years ago when this fight began. They would have bought
me out for a miserable pittance of a hundred and fifty thousand or so.
That would have been a reasonable figure then. You might put it now at
five or six millions, and that would be about right. I don't want their
money. I want power, and I'd rather fight for it than not. Besides, I
mean to make what I have already wrung from them a lever for