“That is my bluff, gentlemen,” said the newcomer quietly. “Would any of you like to call it?” “Holy Smut, it’s Plucky George!” gasped one in the rear; and in a twinkling the place was cleared--nay, more, the scowling bartender himself disappeared as if by magic. Brant linked his arm in the editor’s and led him forth into the clean night air. Neither spoke until they were nearing the Plainsman building, and then it was Forsyth who broke the silence. “You heard what that fellow said, Brant? Are you really the Silverette man?” “Yes. Don’t be alarmed; I’ll quit you when I have seen you safe back to your office.” Forsyth stopped, swung around, and put his hands on the stalwart one’s shoulders. “You are a blessed idiot--no less; and I am minded to beat you,” he protested. “Why, confound it all, man, haven’t you just saved my life?” “That is nothing. And, besides, you wouldn’t have been there if I had not taken you.” “No more would I; but what of that? Say, Brant, don’t play the fool. I have known this thing, or suspected it, from the first, and I’ll leave it to you to say if it has made any difference with me. I am quite willing to take you for what you are, and I don’t care a little curse what you have been. That is no affair of mine, or of anybody’s else.” “Do you think so? The world doesn’t agree with you.” “The world is an impudent busybody,” quoth the editor, catching step again. “Come up to my pigeon-hole and tell me all about it. I’ll stave the rush off while you do it.” “No, I sha’n’t let you do that, Forsyth; but I shall come up later on, if you will let me. I’ll own up frankly; I am in trouble, well up to my neck, and, barring yourself, there isn’t a soul in Denver that I can talk to.” “All right; you come up and unload on me. I’ll look for you about the time the forms go down.” It was the word fitly spoken, and Brant turned away with a warm spot in his heart. High ideals and puissant resolves are all very well in their way, but a single grain of human sympathy strikes deeper root and bears better fruit. For the time Brant felt at peace with all men, and instead of going back to the purlieus to renew the search for Harding, as he had intended, he went in quite the opposite direction, being minded to go to his office and work on the map while he waited on Forsyth’s leisure. So ran the intention; but at the corner he came upon Jarvis, and was straightway turned aside to do a better thing. CHAPTER XVIII “LET THE RIGHTEOUS SMITE ME FRIENDLY” “HELLO, Brant!” said the reporter. “Been to see Forsyth?” “Yes.” “Then you are posted, of course. What do you think about it?” “I hardly know what to think of it yet,” replied Brant, unwilling to go into details with Jarvis. “You are sure those fellows were talking about me, and not about somebody else?” “I’m sure they were talking about a man named Brant who boards at Mrs. Seeley’s. That makes the peg fit the hole, doesn’t it?”