the big book!"

When Gene and Bob Johnson rode into town, Whispering Smith was sitting
in a chair outside the Blackbird, still chatting with Filber, who
stood with his arms around a hitching-post, holding fast a mail-order
house catalogue. A modest crowd of hangers-on had gathered.

"Here we are, Gene," exclaimed Smith to the deputy sheriff. "I was
looking for steers, but some calves got into the drive. Take him
away."

While the Johnsons were laughing, Smith walked into the Blackbird. He
had lost thirty minutes, and in losing them had lost his quarry.
Sinclair had disappeared, and Whispering Smith made a virtue of
necessity by taking the upsetting of his plans with an unruffled face.
There was but one thing more, indeed, to do, and that was to eat his
supper and ride away. The street encounter had made so much talk in
Oroville that Smith declined Gene Johnson's invitation to go back to
the house. It seemed a convenient time to let any other ambitious
rustlers make good if they were disposed to try, and Whispering Smith
went for his supper to the hotel where the Williams Cache men made
their headquarters.

There was a rise in the atmospheric pressure the moment he entered the
hotel office door, and when he walked into the dining-room, some
minutes later, the silence was oppressive. Smith looked for a seat.
The only vacant place chanced to be at a table where nine men from the
Cache sat busy with ham and eggs. It was a trifle awkward, but the
only thing to do was to take the vacant chair.

The nine men were actively engaged with knives and forks and spoons
when Whispering Smith drew out the empty chair at the head of the
table; but nine pairs of hands dropped modestly under the table when
he sat down. Coughing slightly to hide his embarrassment and to keep
his right hand in touch with his necktie, Whispering Smith looked
around the table with the restrained air of a man who has bowed his
head and resolved to ask the blessing, but wants to make reasonably
sure that the family is listening. A movement at the other tables,
among the regular boarders of the hostelry, was apparent almost at
once. Appetites began to fail all over the dining-room. Whispering
Smith gave his order genially to the confused waitress:

"Bring me two eggs--one fried on one side and one on the other--and
coffee."

There was a general scraping of chairs on the floor as they were
pushed back and guests not at the moment interested in the bill