rse quenched his thirst, Jim sat down with his back
against a tree and removed his hat.

"Sorry, old-timer," he began, quietly, "but it can't be helped. We--" He
interrupted himself; shoved Pat away a step. "That's better," he went
on, smiling. Then, as Pat looked puzzled, "On my foot--yes," he
explained. "All of your own, too, of course!" he added. "But one of
mine, too!" He was silent. "As I was remarking," he continued, after a
moment, "we've got to beat him some other way. You're a likely horse."

He lowered his eyes thoughtfully. He did know of a way to beat Johnson.
That way was to mount Pat, ride hard for the open, and race it out
against the little gray mounted by Johnson. But already he could see the
vindictive and cursing Johnson in pursuit, discharging guns before him.
So the idea was hopeless, for he knew that Johnson even now was alert
for some such move. But even if it were feasible, he realized that he
never could rid himself of the man. Others had tried, as he well
recalled--tried to break away from him for all time, with a result in no
way to Johnson's credit. Two had never been seen again, which pointed
grimly to the fact that Johnson lived up to his favorite maxim, which
was that dead men tell no tales. Another was the case of that poor
luckless devil who, through some mysterious workings of the law, having
broken with Johnson, had been arrested and convicted of a crime long
forgotten. But Jim knew, as others closely associated with Johnson knew,
that it was Johnson who indirectly had sent the unfortunate one to the
penitentiary. So it required courage, a kind of unreasoning desperation,
to quit the man and the life he led.

Suddenly Jim took a new hold upon himself. What, he began to ask
himself, was getting into him? Why was he suddenly thinking of quitting
Johnson? What would he do if he did quit him? To his kind all decent
channels were closed for any but the exceptional man. But that wasn't
it! Why was he arguing with himself along these lines? What was getting
into him? He felt as if some good and powerful influence was come into
his life! He had felt like this in Denver when a Salvation Army lassie
had approached him. But this wasn't Denver! Nor was there a woman! What
was it, anyway? He could not decide.

He arose and laid his hand upon Pat's forelock.

"It's a regular case," he said, leading the horse out of the grove, "for
something to turn up. It generally does, anyway," he concluded. "