At the head of the double line of spectators stood Hank Phelps, ready to sacrifice his own timepiece. There was no backing down for him, of course. He stood to win a hundred--by smashing a four-hundred-dollar watch. Profitable business! Anyhow, the crowd expected Hank Phelps to make good his side of the bet, and Hank Phelps wasn’t the man to let another outdo him. The second watch shimmered along through the air and dropped into the dust a foot beyond Benner’s. “Phelps has won!” roared the crowd. “The money belongs ter Phelps!” The condition of those superb tickers was enough to make a blacksmith weep. The works had fallen out of Benner’s watch and rolled on into the dust. Phelps’ timepiece was crushed. Wild Bill, however, had lost interest in the condition of the watches. A small square of paper had fallen from Benner’s watch with the works. The Laramie man had picked up the paper with the intention of returning it. There was writing on the small square. One glance at the writing was enough to make Wild Bill change his mind about handing the scrap to the owner of the watch. Instead of doing that, he pushed through the clamoring crowd in a hurried hunt for old Nomad. Some people have a habit of carrying important memoranda inside their watch cases. Properly inscribed on thin paper, notes may be easily carried under the lid of a timepiece, the watch thus answering, in a way, for a secret pocket. Wild Bill figured that Benner had been using his five-hundred-dollar watch for this purpose, and that, in the excitement of his wager with Phelps, he had forgotten the paper. The breaking of the watch had released the scrap. The Laramie man, as we have seen, had picked it up, glanced at it, changed his mind about handing it over to Benner, and begun a search for the trapper. Wild Bill found old Nomad standing in front of the hotel airing his opinion, in no uncertain language, about using watches for missiles when stones were so handy. “Waugh!” rumbled Nomad, holding forth to a little group that had formed about him, “they ort ter lock up fellers what does things like thet. Only a couple o’ ijuts would make sich er locoed play, anyways. Sufferin’ hyeners! Ain’t ther any fool killers eround these hyar parts?” “Ye’d better stow yer guff,” cautioned a man in the crowd. “Them fellers aire cattle barons. If some o’ their punchers was ter hear ye, they might turn loose with their guns. Punchers is touchy, that-a-way.” “I’m some techy myself, pilgrim, when et comes ter playin’ baseball with five-hunnerd-dollar tickers.” At that moment Wild Bill stepped up and caught the old trapper by the arm. “Trail along with me,” said the Laramie man. “I’ve got something important to talk over with you.” There was a crowd in the hotel office, so the pards did not go in. Instead of entering the hotel, they went around behind. “What’s ter pay, Wild Bill?” queried Nomad. “I jedge thar’s er screw loose, from ther looks o’ yer face.”