A string of empty cars backed onto the siding at X——, bumping and grinding and squealing as the engine puffed softly; a running rattle and crash told of the shivering line coming to rest and the sibilant sighs of the engine seemed to voice its protest at being side-tracked for the passing of an engine of a higher caste. While it panted and wheezed, its crew taking advantage of the opportunity to look to and oil journals and rods, a man made his way through the brush several hundred yards down the track, swearing mildly as he brushed cinders and dust from his clothes. His only possessions besides his clothes were a revolver swinging in its buttoned holster, and a tightly rolled and securely tied gunny sack, to which he clung in grim determination. "H—l of a ride," he growled as he headed in a circuitous course for the town a short distance away. "But it breaks th’ trail. They ’ll figger I went north to cross th’ line, or up to Helena. Lucky they told me Denver Gus’s relay was relieved. Brains, says Smiler—huh, devil a lot of good his brains done him. He is out of it, an’ so is Peters, d—n ’em. Brains!" He entered the town, looking for a place to put up. The Come-Again looked good and he entered it, securing a room on the second floor, which was under the roof. He was explicit to the proprietor: "It’s got to be a back room, an’ I want it for a couple of days, an’ I don’t want no noise,—I’m out here for my cussed nerves an’ as soon as I can get a good job we ’ll see about terms. Oh, I expect to pay in advance—will two days’ pay keep you from layin’ awake nights?" "Reckon somebody made a mistake," replied the proprietor. "Yore nerves is purty strong." "Have a drink and forget it," Dave smiled. When he had paid for the drinks he asked a question: "Who’s got th’ best horse in town? I’m a-goin’ to buy it if it’s good enough." The proprietor looked him over and nodded toward a table in the farther corner: "That’s him." Dave sauntered over to the lone drinker: "Just been told you got th’ best horse in town. That right?" The other looked up slowly: "I might," he replied. "I want to buy him. I don’t give a d—n about th’ price if he’s good. Interested? Thought you’d be." The other also looked the cocky stranger over: "Yes—I ’m interested—a little. I ain’t h—l-bent for to sell that horse. He ’s th’ best ever came to these parts—that’s why he ’s good—he _came_ here." Dave was impatient: "Is he where I can see him?" "Shore," drawled the horseman, arising languidly. "Come along an’ you can see him if yore eyes is good." The owner of the "best horse in town" studied Dave as they walked along and his mental comment was not flattering to the _protégé_ of the late Herr Schatz. "Fake cow-puncher," was his summing up. "He don’t know a _hoss_ from a hoss—but he thinks he does."