h the old lion's lair and you get a
nice idea of what Bland expects from his men."

* * * * *

Handlon made a wry face at this. "The bird who first applied the words
'Hard Boiled' to the Chief's monniker knew something."

"You don't know the half of it," retorted Perry encouragingly. "Just
wait and see what a beaut of a fit he can throw for _your_ benefit if
you fail to do your stuff--and I don't mean maybe."

Old Man Bland owned the Journal, hired and fired his crew and did his
own editing, with the help of as capable an office gang as could be
gotten together. It is quite possible that "Hard Boiled" Bland demanded
more from his men than any other editor ever has before or since.
Nevertheless he got results, and none of his experienced underlings ever
kicked, for the pay was right. If a hapless scribe had the temerity to
enter the editorial sanctum with a negative report, the almost
invariable reply had been a glare and a peremptory order, "Get the
copy."

And get it they did. If a person refused an interview these clever
fellows generally succeeded in getting their information from the next
most reliable source, and it arrived in print just the same.

Of such a breed was Perry. Handlon, being a more recent acquisition to
the staff, was not yet especially aggressive in his work. On this
account the former took keen zest in scaring him into displaying a bit
more sand.

* * * * *

The train had disappeared around a bend and the two reporters felt
themselves marooned. Keegan, without question, was a most forlorn
looking spot. A dismal shanty, much the worse for weather, stood beside
the track. In front, a few rotting planks proclaimed that once upon a
time the place had boasted a real freight platform. Probably, back in
some long-forgotten age, a station agent had also held forth in the
rickety shanty. A sign hung on each end of the crumbling structure on
which could still be deciphered the legend "KEEGAN." On the opposite
side of the track was an old, disused siding. The only other feature of
interest thereabouts was a well traveled country road which crossed the
tracks near the shanty, wound sinuously over a rock-strewn hill and
became lost in the mares of an upland forest.

There being no signboard of any kind to indicate their destination, the
two, after a moment's hesitation, started off briskly in a chance
direction. The air was hot and sultry,