Fargo looked slightly puzzled. “Sure! Why did you think I said it?” Lefty’s face was brick-red and his eyes dropped before the steady, open scrutiny of the catcher. “I――didn’t realize you were――paying so much attention to me,” he stammered. “I might have known, though, when you struck out to-day――to――to help me out. That was good of you, Fargo.” The backstop laughed. “Chase that notion out of your nut right off, son,” he chuckled. “I ain’t that crazy――yet. Reckon I must have been a bit off my feed, too, or else you took a spurt while I was up to the plate. I s’pose the old man sailed into you good and proper. He looked dangerous when I saw him heading your way after the game.” Locke explained briefly that the manager had raked him over the coals in a manner which left nothing to be desired. “I thought sure he’d end up by firing me out on the spot,” he confessed in conclusion. “Not him,” grinned Fargo. “He’s too sharp. You want to toe the mark, though, from now on. He’ll have them snappy optics of his on you every minute of the day to see whether this was a fluke or your regular way of doing things. You’ll have to show him, that’s all.” As the backstop strolled off, Lefty’s eyes followed him for a moment. He had been a fool to suspect for an instant that this big, rough-and-ready, but thoroughly straight, dependable fellow could be mixed up in anything so underhanded. Stillman, whose trained mind had missed no point in the conversation, quickly broke the silence. “You surely didn’t think he had anything to do with it?” he questioned. “I couldn’t understand why he said something he did last night,” Lefty explained. “I was an idiot, of course.” “You certainly were. Buck Fargo is one of the squarest men in the crowd, even if he is a little rough outside. He’d do anything in the world for a fellow he likes, and you’re mighty lucky he’s taken a fancy to you.” He paused for an instant, his brow furrowed thoughtfully. “Look here, old fellow,” he went on slowly, “why don’t you get after the man who served those drinks! I’ll bet he knows a thing or two, and you ought to be able to sweat it out of him.” Lefty’s eyes brightened. “By Jove!” he exclaimed. “That’s a good idea, Jack. I shouldn’t wonder if he did. At least it’ll be worth trying. He ought to be on duty now.” Without further delay, he arose and walked over to the desk. Though he did not know the fellow’s name, he remembered perfectly what he looked like, and the clerk recognized his description at once. “Oh, you mean George Miller? Why, the proprietor fired him this morning, Mr. Locke. He was stewed last night, and had a holdover this morning. He’s left the hotel, and I don’t know where you can find him.” Lefty turned from the desk, with a shrug. “That’s settled,” he thought disconsolately. “Why didn’t I think of it before? I suppose I wasn’t thinking of anything this morning, though.”