sinesses at last."

"Oh, you haven't much to worry over," replied Morrison. "You haven't
all your eggs in one basket like I have. It is just pin-money for you,
but it means bread and butter and bed for me and mine."

Brenchfield steered his horse alongside and laid his hand sympathetically
on the old man's shoulder.

"Never mind, Morrison! It is all over now,--so here's to better
days."

Morrison was not very responsive, and the Mayor excused himself on the
plea of his ankle, his want of sleep and the further pressure of
mayoral business.

"Darn it!" exclaimed Morrison to Jim and Phil, as he left them at the
end of the avenue, "I used to like Brenchfield, but I don't know
what's come over me lately with him. When he laid his hand on me a few
minutes ago, I felt as if a wet toad was squatting on the back of my
neck."

When they reached home, Jim did not go to his own room immediately. He
followed into Phil's and sat down on the edge of the bed as Phil
commenced to get out of his clothes preparatory to having a bath.

"Well!--what did you think of it, Phil?" he asked, glad, evidently, to
be alone with his comrade where he could at last express his thoughts
and pent-up feelings freely.

"Pretty work!"

"What?"

"I said I thought it was pretty work. We did a clean job;--got all we
went out for."

"Like the devil we did!" shot out Jim.

"Why!--what did we forget, grouchy?"

"Everything! They're too blamed wise for us, that bunch, and they're
too many."

Phil stopped pulling off a sock and looked over at Jim.

"Aw, come off!" cried the other. "Let in the daylight, man! What did
we get anyway?"

"We got the thieves, didn't we?"

"Not by a jugfull! Half a dozen half-breed teamsters,--that's all!"

"Armed and driving stolen goods!"

"Yes! I grant that, but what good is that going to do?"

"Well, Jim,--you've discovered the plan they have been operating for
doing away with the stuff. That is something."

"Sure!--that too, and it will end the wholesale thieving for a bit,
till they find another way. It will give poor old Morrison a chance to
recoup."

"Then I guess you always expect too much, Jim. You're never
contented."

"Why should I be;--with Brenchfield's foreman and head-boss rotter Red
McGregor, and that sneaky little devil Stitchy Summers not among the
casualties."

"But Palmer will get them, won't he?"

"Not on your life!"

"Why not? We stopped each of them making for the gang to warn