Dutch continued to stare at the table for several seconds. Then he glanced around and called: "Fritz! Fritz! _Komm’ zu mir_—und Fritz iss gone," he finished, turning to those at the table an expression of comical bewilderment. He took a couple of steps in the direction where he supposed the glove to be. Bruce was just lying down. Dutch looked more carefully, stooping to see along the floor. A light broke in on him. He straightened up and excitedly declared: "Yoost like dot! Yoost like der glove iss Fritz: I know ver he iss bud I can’t see him." "Dutch, come here." Ned’s voice was stern and Dutch approached with hanging countenance. "Where was you when you ’turn ’round like dot’?" asked Ned. "Only a minute, Ned; yoost a minute!" "Where?" "In Ike’s I vas; yoost a minute." "Ain’t I told you to keep out o’ there?" Dutch moved his feet, licked his lips, and cleared his throat; words seemed to fail him. While he hesitated the door opened again, something more than six inches, and Boomerang squeezed through. He shuffled up to Dutch and touched him on the shoulder. "Hey, Dutch, I been chasin’ you all over. Pickles went home wit’ Little Nell, see? An’ she sent me ter tell you." "Vat! mit dot—" he broke off and turned to Ned. "I begs your pardon, but Fritz, he iss leetle—he learn quick. Right avay I go." He was at the door when Slick hailed him. "Hey, Dutchy, this yourn?" The other caught the tossed glove, and nodded. "Yah, first der glove, soon iss Fritz," and the door closed behind him. "Good as a circus," laughingly declared Buck. "About pay now—how would eighty a month hit you, for a starter?" "Fine," declared Ned. "Then here she is, first month," and Buck handed it over. "Will that be enough to square up what you owe?" he added. "W’y, I don’t owe nothin’," declared Ned. "Well—now—I was just a-thinkin’ ’bout th’ lady as seemed right vexed when you dropped yore roll to Dave." He looked casually at Slick, behind the bar, while he was saying it. "Little Nell? I don’t owe her nothin’, neither. It was my pile,—all of it." Buck heaved a sigh of relief. "I ’m right glad to hear it. Then you ’ll be all ready to hit th’ trail with me in th’ mornin’?" he asked. "Shore; but s’pos’n you can’t get th’ ranch?" suggested Ned. "I ’ll get it. An’ when I get it I ’ll run it, too, less’n they load me with lead too heavy to sit a horse—then you ’ll run it." His smile was infectious. "Cheyenne, I like yore style. Put ’er there," and he shoved a huge, hairy fist at Buck. "’Nother thing," he went on, "Chesty an’ Bow-Wow was a-goin’ over to th’ Bitter Root. I ’ll tell ’em to hang ’round for a spell. Them ’s two good boys. So ’s Dutchy—when he ain’t a-runnin’ after Pickles." "All right; you talk to ’em. See you in th’ mornin’," and with a general good-night, Buck went to his room.