ible anger. He caught the inert
Mayor by the arms, dragged him across the soft flooring of hoof
shavings and metal-dust, to the outside, slinging him unceremoniously
on to the heap of broken iron beside the frozen horse-trough. He next
went back into the smithy, damped down the fires, dipped a pail into
the vat--filling it with water--then shut up shop, for it was growing
dark and near to the usual closing time. He went into the yard and
looked over his still senseless but heavily breathing antagonist. He
dashed the icy contents of the pail contemptuously over the head and
shoulders of Brenchfield, tossing the empty receptacle on the ground.
He next loosened his horse from the stall in the barn, mounted and
rode down town to Morrison of the O.K. Supply Company to purchase the
balance of the supplies he and Jim required for their next day's
Christmas dinner--their first Christmas dinner on a ranch; Phil's
first Christmas dinner in six outside of a prison.

And, as he jogged homeward over the hard, frozen snow--his saddlebags
on either side choking full of good things to eat--he tried, again and
again, but without success, to discover at which point in his
conversation with Brenchfield he had given himself away and thereby
disclosed to him that his cipher confession was a myth.

And Graham Brenchfield, as he took the back lanes home,--after having
regained his scattered senses and put his upset toilet into
half-respectable shape--cursed himself for his folly and wished that
what he had tried to draw Ralston on were really true; that the
document he so much dreaded and desired to possess were really ashes
long since strewn to the winds.

But he could not be certain on the point, for Phil had not sufficiently
betrayed himself; so he cursed again and made up his mind that there
was only one course now open to make surety doubly sure;--and Phil
Ralston or any others who tried to come in his path must accept the
consequences of their folly and rashness.

Phil reached the ranch in good time and, considering all he had gone
through, in fairly good spirits. He stabled the horse, and after
brushing three or four of Ah Sing's black cats from the door-step he
went inside, greeting Jim in his usual hearty way.

The table was set in the kitchen and the pots were steaming on the
stove top, all ready for the evening meal.

Jim was in the adjoining room, apparently absorbed over some of his
alleged literary work. He raised his hea