ng is mighty likely to talk loose-tongued, no matter
what he preaches."

And there, without lifting his eyes from the floor, Big Louie cleared
his throat and made answer.

"Maybe," he retorted. "Maybe. And maybe not so sure, either! I have
listened to big words before now, me, that have put no food under my
belt, no coat to my back."

Steve's smile was unruffled and kind. No matter what the hidden
verdict of the rest of that room might be, he had known already that
Big Louie was past saving. For there were not so many like him among
those hills but what the type was instantly recognizable, wherever it
was encountered. He had the frame of a giant--Big Louie--the splendid
legacy of generations of men who had lived out of doors. But there was
no depth in his seal-brown eyes which always seemed to brood; no
decision in any move of his ponderous body. He had little chin; he had
no name, save Big Louie which his size alone had sired. And Steve was
very patient in making answer.

"If it's only food and shelter, and clothes for your back, Big Louie,
you'll not have to worry. But I'm not promising either, mind, that
there'll be easy money to blow on white whiskey. Were you expecting
any?"

That brain which could cope with but one idea at a time was fertile
ground for seed which such a one as Harrigan might sow. Big Louie
failed to reply. He sat quiet, deep in thought when Stephen O'Mara
closed the door noiselessly behind him.

* * * * * *

It was minutes after Steve had gone back up the hill before Garry
Devereau reached out a hand in the darkness and touched,
experimentally, what had seemed to be only a shapeless black blotch at
the edge of light, a rod or two from the door. And instantly at his
touch the shadow was galvanized into life. It reared and plunged and
enveloped the slighter man in a crushing embrace and bore him over
backward. With the muzzle of a revolver chafing his ear Garry managed
to worry his head high enough to free his mouth and nostrils from dirt.

"Get off me! Get off me, you fat romancer, you!" he whispered fiercely.

An explosive grunt of dismay answered him, before Fat Joe let him rise.
In a thin and profane tenor he was bidden to explain his presence there.

"I couldn't sleep," Garry replied, his voice still peevish, "so I came
out for a breath of air. I saw him start this way--saw you following
him with that gun in your hand. I just slipped