t would. We've got plans. Soapy is relying on me. No matter what
they are, but I'm not going to lie down on him. And I'm not going back to
the old man. He told me he was through with me. Once is a-plenty. I'm not
begging him to take me back, not on your life."

[Illustration: HE WAS THE MADDEST MAN IN ARIZONA.]

Curly dropped the matter. To urge him further would only make the boy more
set in his decision. But as the days passed he kept one thing in his mind,
not to miss any chance to win his friendship. They rode together a good
deal, and Flandrau found that Sam liked to hear him talk about the Circle
C and its affairs. But often he was discouraged, for he made no progress
in weaning him from his loyalty to Stone. The latter was a hero to him,
and gradually he was filling him with wrong ideas, encouraging him the
while to drink a great deal. That the man had some definite purpose Curly
was sure. What it was he meant to find out.

Meanwhile he played his part of a wild young cowpuncher ready for any
mischief, but beneath his obtuse good humor Flandrau covered a vigilant
wariness. Soapy held all the good cards now, but if he stayed in the game
some of them would come to him. Then he would show Mr. Stone whether he
would have everything his own way.

CHAPTER VIII

A REHEARSED QUARREL

Because he could not persuade him to join in their drinking bouts, Stone
nicknamed Curly the good bad man.

"He's the prize tough in Arizona, only he's promised his ma not to look on
the wine when it is red," Blackwell sneered.

Flandrau smiled amiably, and retorted as best he could. It was his cue not
to take offence unless it were necessary.

It was perhaps on account of this good nature that Blackwell made a
mistake. He picked on the young man to be the butt of his coarse
pleasantries. Day after day he pointed his jeers at Curly, who continued
to grin as if he did not care.

When the worm turned, it happened that they were all sitting on the porch.
Curly was sewing a broken stirrup leather, Blackwell had a quirt in his
hand, and from time to time flicked it at the back of his victim. Twice
the lash stung, not hard, but with pepper enough to hurt. Each time the
young man asked him to stop.

Blackwell snapped the quirt once too often. When he picked himself out of
the dust five seconds later, he was the maddest man in Arizona. Like a
bull he lowered his head and rushed. Curly sidestepped and lashed out hard
with his lef