to keep. Holt pulled on his boots and went out to twit
such of the enemy as he might meet. It chanced that the first of them
was Selfridge, whom he had not seen since his arrival, though he knew
the little man was in camp.

"How goes it, Holt? Fine and dandy, eh?" inquired Wally with the
professional geniality he affected.

The old miner shook his head dolefully. "I done bust my laig, Mr.
Selfish," he groaned. It was one of his pleasant ways to affect a
difficulty of hearing and a dullness of understanding, so that he could
legitimately call people by distorted versions of their names. "The old
man don't amount to much nowadays. Onct a man or a horse gits stove up
I don't reckon either one pans out much pay dust any more."

"Nothing to that, Gid. You're younger than you ever were, judging by
your looks."

"Then my looks lie to beat hell, Mr. Selfish."

"My name is Selfridge," explained Wally, a trifle irritated.

Holt put a cupped hand to his ear anxiously. "Shellfish, did you say?
Tha' 's right. Howcome I to forget? The old man's going pretty fast,
Mr. Shellfish. No more memory than a jackrabbit. Say, Mr. Shellfish,
what's the idee of all this here back-to-the-people movement, as the
old sayin' is?"

"I don't know what you mean. And my name is Selfridge, I tell you,"
snapped the owner of that name.

"'Course I ain't got no more sense than the law allows. I'm a buzzard
haid, but me I kinder got to millin' it over and in respect to these
here local improvements, as you might say, I'm doggoned if I _sabe_
the whyfor." There was an imp of malicious deviltry in the black, beady
eyes sparkling at Selfridge from between narrowed lids.

"Just some business changes we're making."

Holt showed his tobacco-stained teeth in a grin splenetic. "Oh. That's
all. I didn't know but what you might be expecting a visitor."

Selfridge flashed a sharp sidelong glance at him. "What do you mean--a
visitor?"

"I just got a notion mebbe you might be looking for one, Mr. Pelfrich.
But I don't know sic' 'em. Like as not you ain't fixing up for this
Gordon Elliot a-tall."

Wally had no come-back, unless it was one to retort in ironic
admiration. "You're a wonder, Holt. Pity you don't start a detective
bureau."

The old man went away cackling dryly.

If Selfridge had held any doubts before, he discarded them now. Holt
would wreck the whole enterprise, were he given a chance. It would never
do to let Elliot meet and talk with him