ou say, we always get
along because we both got sense."

"You're hiding yours to-day, Rebstock."

"No matter; I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll give you all the
horseflesh you can kill and all the men you can hire to go after him,
and I'll bury your dead myself. You think he can't shoot? I give you a
tip on the square." Whispering Smith snorted. "He'll shoot the four
buttons off your coat in four shots." Smith kicked Rebstock's dog
contemptuously. "And do it while you are falling down. I've seen him
do it," persisted Rebstock, moist with perspiration. "I'm not looking
for a chance to go against a sure thing; I wash my hands of the job."

Whispering Smith rose. "It was no trick to see he had you scared to
death. You are losing your wits, old man. The albino is a faker, and I
tell you I am going to run him out of the country." Whispering Smith
reached for his hat. "Our treaty ends right here. You promised to
harbor no man in your sink that ever went against our road. You know
as well as I do that this man, with four others, held up our train
night before last at Tower W, shot our engineman to death for mere
delight, killed a messenger, took sixty-five thousand dollars out of
the through safe, and made his good get-away. Now, don't lie; you know
every word of it, and you thought you could pull it out of me by a
bluff. I track him to your door. He is inside the Cache this minute.
You know every curve and canyon and pocket and washout in it, and
every cut-throat and jail-bird in it, and they pay you blood-money and
hush-money every month; and when I ask you not to give up a dozen men
the company is entitled to, but merely to send this pink-eyed lobster
out with his guns to talk with me, you wash your hands of the job, do
you? Now listen. If you don't send Du Sang into the open before noon
to-morrow, I'll run every living steer and every living man out of
Williams Cache before I cross the Crawling Stone again, so help me
God! And I'll send for cowboys within thirty minutes to begin the job.
I'll scrape your Deep Creek canyons till the rattlesnakes squeal. I'll
make Williams Cache so wild that a timber-wolf can't follow his own
trail through it. You'll break with me, will you, Rebstock? Then wind
up your bank account; before I finish with you I'll put you in stripes
and feed buzzards off your table."

Rebstock's face was apoplectic. He choked with a torrent of oaths.
Whispering Smith, paying no attention, walked out to wher