"Come in, Pete," he accosted. "I reckon ther other feller'll git hyar
d'reck'ly."

The two sat smoking and talking in low tones, yet pausing constantly to
listen until again they heard the triple rap and admitted a third member
to their caucus.

Here any one not an initiate to the mysteries of this inner shrine would
have wondered to the degree of amazement, for this newcomer was an
ostensible enemy of Bas Rowlett's whom in other company he refused to
recognize.

But Sim Squires entered unhesitatingly and now between himself and the
man with whom he did not speak in public passed a nod and glance of
complete harmony and understanding.

When certain subsidiary affairs had been adjusted--all matters of
upbuilding for Rowlett's influence and repute--Bas turned to Sim
Squires.

"Sim," he said, genially, "I reckon we're ready ter heer what ye've got
on _yore_ mind now," and the other grinned.

"Ther Thorntons an' Harpers--them thet dwells furthest back in ther
sticks--air a doin' a heap of buzzin' an' talkin'. They're right sim'lar
ter bees gittin' ready ter swarm. I've done seed ter that. I reckon when
this hyar stranger starts in ter rob ther honey outen thet hive he's
goin' ter find a tol'able nasty lot of stingers on his hands."

"Ye've done cautioned 'em not ter make no move afore they gits ther
word, hain't ye--an' ye've done persuaded 'em ye plum hates me, hain't
ye?"

Again Sim grinned.

"Satan hisself would git rightfully insulted ef anybody cussed an'
damned him like I've done _you_, Bas."

"All right then. I reckon when ther time comes both ther Doanes and
Harpers'll be right sick of Mr. Cal Maggard or Mr. Parish Thornton or
Mr. Who-ever-he-is."

They talked well into the night, and Peter Doane was the first to leave,
but after his departure Sim Squires permitted a glint of deep anxiety to
show in his narrow and shifty eyes.

"Hit's yore own business ef ye confidences Pete Doane in yore own
behalf, Bas," he suggested, "but ye hain't told him nuthin' erbout _me_,
hes ye?"

Bas Rowlett smiled.

"I hain't no damn fool, Sim," he reassured. "Thar don't nobody but jest
me an' you know thet ye shot Cal Maggard--but ye war sich a damn disable
feller on ther job thet rightly I ought ter tell yore name ter ther
circuit-rider."

"What fer?" growled the hireling, sulkily, and the master laughed.

"So's he could put hit in his give-out at meetin' an shame ye afore all
mankind," he made urbane explana