"Fight?" said Billy, wondering. "Fight? Co'se not. Hank don't plunder _me_ none. He jest ambles along an' helps himself, and leaves th' dust fer it every time. I jest lays low an' lets him operate. I never has no _dealin's_ with him, understand. He jest nat'rally waltzes in an' plants his grub-hooks on what he needs. _I_ don't know nothin' about it. _I'm_ dead asleep." He bestowed a shadowy wink on the stranger Below, the outlaws moved here and there. "Billy!" shouted a commanding voice, "Billy Knapp!" The hotel-keeper looked perplexed. "Now, what's he tollin' _me_ for?" he asked of the man by his side. "Billy!" shouted the voice again, "come down here, you Siwash. I want to palaver with you!" "All right, Hank," replied Billy. He went to his "room," and buckled on a heavy belt; then descended the steep stairs. The bar-room was lighted and filled with men. Some of them were drinking and eating; others were strapping provisions into portable form. Against the corner of the bar a tall figure of a man leaned smoking--a man lithe, active, and muscular, with a keen dark face, and black eyebrows which met over his nose. Billy walked silently to this man. "What is it?" he asked, shortly. "This yere ain't in th' agreement." "I know that," replied the stranger. "Then leave yore dust and vamoose." "My dust is there," replied Black Hank, placing his hand on a buckskin bag at his side, "and you're paid, Billy Knapp. I want to ask you a question. Standing Rock has sent fifty thousand dollars in greenbacks to Spotted Tail. The messenger went through here to-day. Have you seen him?" "Nary messenger," replied Billy, in relief. "Stage goes empty." Charley had crept down the stairs and into the room. "What in hell are yo' doin' yere, yo' ranikaboo ijit?" inquired Billy, truculently. "That thar stage ain't what you calls _empty_," observed Charley, unmoved. A light broke on Billy's mind. He remarked the valise which the stranger had so carefully guarded; and though his common-sense told him that an inoffensive non-combatant such as his guest would hardly be chosen as express messenger, still the bare possibility remained. "Yo're right," he agreed, carelessly, "thar is one tenderfoot, who knows as much of ridin' express as a pig does of a ruffled shirt." "I notes he's almighty particular about that carpet-bag of his'n," insisted Charley. The man against the counter had lost nothing of the scene. Billy's denial, his hesitation, his half-truth all looked suspicious to him. With one swift, round sweep of the arm he had Billy covered. Billy's hands shot over his head without the necessity of command. The men ceased their occupations and gathered about. Scenes of this sort were too common to elicit comment or arouse excitement. They knew perfectly well the _laissez-faire_ relations which obtained between the two Westerners. "Now," said Black Hank, angrily, in a low tone, "I want to know why in hell you tried that monkey game!"