Big Tom was staring at him as if doubting his senses. His face flushed and the veins on his neck and forehead stood out like serpents. He stepped forward involuntarily, but the gun stopped him. He was incapable of speech for the moment and could only make inarticulate sounds. "That'll help a lot," said Johnny, lightly balanced and leaning slightly forward. "Well let th' Double X say how many cattle, takin' 'em as they come, they would sell for three thousand dollars. Then we'll take that many away from that nine seventy. You can easy round-up what are needed to make up th' difference, brand 'em with th' SV stampin' irons, an' throw 'em over where they belong. I'll take th' note _now_." "You'll take h--l!" yelled the foreman. "You'll take h--l!" "You'll _get_ h--l!" snapped Johnny, his eyes narrowing; "an' you'll get it _pronto_! Hunt up that note, an' without no more cussed nonsense. It's yore play, an' you shore want to play fast!" "You won't get no note!" shouted Big Tom, his face twitching with rage. He seemed about to spring. "_Don't!_" ordered Johnny, softly, but with a cold ferocity in his voice that carried conviction. "I'll shoot you like I would a coyote, you pot-shooter, for you are a coyote! Get that note!" Big Tom, seething with rage, swayed in agonizing hesitation. He had courage, plenty of it; but he also had common sense. Unarmed, he could do nothing against the gun which had killed his two-gun man in an even break; and his common sense came to his rescue, and barely in time. Glancing out of the window, he detected no signs of his outfit on the trail, and craftily attempted to begin the argument all over again. "That'll do," said Johnny. "We've finished that. My time is valuable, even if I ain't lookin' for company; an' if they come, you'll be th' first to go under. Get--that--note!" Shrugging his shoulders, the foreman stepped forward, but Johnny slipped aside and snarled a warning, so venomous and tense that Big Tom gave up the desperate idea, and slowly turned, a beaten man. He walked toward a metal-bound box in a corner of the room, Johnny close at his heels, the gun against the foreman's back. Unlocking it, he slowly raised the lid, and felt Johnny's breath on his neck, the gun pressing solidly against his spine. As the cover went up it revealed a derringer lying on top of a few papers, and the foreman's hand slowly passed by it and fumbled among the contents, reluctantly withdrawing with an unsealed envelope. Shutting down the lid he turned the key, and arose to his feet as his captor, alert as a cat, stepped aside. Johnny took the envelope, backed off a little farther, opened it, glanced at the note and nodded. He looked around the room and then ordered Big Tom to the table. Taking the pen and ink from a shelf, he placed them before the foreman and then handed him the envelope, telling him what to write. When the pen ceased scratching he took the receipt, read it, and held it out a moment for it to dry.