w it!" he cried indignantly. "If you
think you've got to collect damages, take it outa these blinkety-blink
pilgrims you think so much of. Speak to 'em pleasant, though, or you're
liable to lose the price of a beer, maybe! They'll never bring you the
money we've brought you, you--"

"They won't because you've likely killed 'em both," Rusty retorted
angrily. "You want to remember you can't come into town and rip things
up the back the way you used to, and nobody say a word. You better
drift, before that feller that went out comes back with an officer. You
can't--"

"Officer be damned!" retorted Irish, unawed.

He went out while Rusty was deciding to order him out, and started for
the stable. Halfway there he ducked into the shadow of the blacksmith
shop and watched two men go up the street to Rusty's place, walking
quickly. He went on then, got his horse hurriedly without waiting to
cinch the saddle, led him behind the blacksmith shop where he would
not be likely to be found, and tied him there to the wreck of a freight
wagon.

Then he went across lots to where Fred Wilson, manager of the general
store, slept in a two-room shack belonging to the hotel. The door was
locked--Fred being a small man with little trust in Providence or in
his overt physical prowess--and so he rapped cautiously upon the window
until Fred awoke and wanted to know who in thunder was there.

Irish told his name, and presently went inside. "I'm pulling outa town,
Fred," he explained, "and I don't know when I'll be in again. So I want
you to take an order for some posts and bob wire and steeples. I--"

"Why didn't you come to the store?" Fred very naturally demanded,
peevish at being wakened at three o'clock in the morning. "I saw you in
town when I closed up."

"I was busy. Crawl back into bed and cover up, while I give you the
order. I'll want a receipt for the money, too--I'm paying in advance,
so you won't have any excuse for holding up the order. Got any thing to
write on?"

Fred found part of an order pad and a pencil, and crept shivering into
his bed. The offer to pay in advance had silenced his grumbling, as
Irish expected it would. So Irish gave the order--thirteen hundred cedar
posts, I remember--I don't know just how much wire, but all he would
need.

"Holy Macintosh! Is this for YOU?" Fred wanted to know as he wrote it
down.

"Some of it. We're fencing our claims. If I don't come after the stuff
myself, let any of the boys