"Did I?" said Jim indifferently. "No odds. You've got my number, anyway. And I thought we was so devilish sly!" "Well, boys, thank you for the dinner and all; but I'd best be jogging. Got to catch that train." Knitting his brows reflectively he turned a questioning eye upon his hosts. But Shorty Bill took the words from his mouth. "I'm like Jim: I've got a-plenty," he said. "But there's a repeating rifle in the shack, if you don't want to risk us. You can leave it at Silverbell for us if you want to--at the saloon. And we can ride off the other way, so you'll be sure." "Maybe that'll be best--considerin'," said Pete. "I'll leave the gun." "See here, Johnson," said Jim stiffly. "We've thrown 'em down, fair and square. I think you might trust us." Pete scratched his head in some perplexity. "I think maybe I might if it was only myself to think of. But I'm representing another man's interest too. I ain't takin' no chances." "Yes--I noticed you was one of them prudent guys," murmured Jim. Pete ignored the interruption. "So, not rubbin' it in or anything, we'd best use Bill's plan. You lads hike off back the way I come, and I'll take your rifle and drag it. So long! Had a good time with you." "_Adiós!_" said Bill, swinging into the saddle. "Hold on, Bill! Give Johnson back his money," said Jim. "Oh, you keep it. You won it fair. I didn't go to the finish." "Look here--what do you think I am? You take this money, or I'll be sore as a boil. There! So long, old hand! Be good!" He spurred after Bill. Mr. Johnson brought the repeater from the dugout and saddled old Midnight. As he pulled the cinches tight, he gazed regretfully at his late companions, sky-lined as they topped a rise. "There!" said Mr. Johnson with conviction. "There goes a couple of right nice boys!" CHAPTER II The immemorial traditions of Old Spain, backed by the counsel of a brazen sun, made a last stand against the inexorable centuries: Tucson was at siesta; noonday lull was drowsy in the corridors of the Merchants and Miners Bank. Green shades along the south guarded the cool and quiet spaciousness of the Merchants and Miners, flooded with clear white light from the northern windows. In the lobby a single client, leaning on the sill at the note-teller's window, meekly awaited the convenience of the office force. The Castilian influence had reduced the office force, at this ebb hour of business, to a spruce, shirt-sleeved young man, green-vizored as to his eyes, seated at a mid-office desk, quite engrossed with mysterious clerical matters.