Bill went back to his chair again. Everett Hammond came into the room from the porch outside. Laying his hat on the California desk, he went around behind the counter and turned the pages of the register. Bill did not sit down, but wandered over to the desk where Hammond stood and gazed at him through half-open eyes. "Oh, you runnin' the place now?" he questioned. Hammond did not answer him at once, but kept on running over the names on the list. But there was a compelling force in the mild gaze of the old man which made Hammond stop to reckon with him. "Yes," he said, bruskly, while he frowned at Bill. "I've just settled everything with your wife. All that's needed now is for you to sign that deed." There was no answer forthcoming from Bill. Instead, he slowly took the flask from his pocket and held it in front of him. "I'll take a drink with you," he said, with a slow smile. Hammond did not glance up, but answered, with a half-smile, "I'm sorry, but I, haven't got anything." "I have," said Bill, shuffling toward him with the flask. Blodgett twisted about in his chair and called, "You look and act as if you'd had enough." Bill left the desk and seated himself beside Blodgett again. "I don't want it for myself," he said, putting the spurned flask back in his pocket; "it's just for social--ability. I don't drink." "Don't tell me that," scoffed the sheriff. "You're a booze-fighter." "No, I ain't," Bill answered, quickly. Then seeing a chance for romance, he added, "I'm an Indian-fighter." "Is that so?" Blodgett drew out his answer in an accent that spoke of disbelief. "You bet it's so. Did you ever know Buffalo Bill?" Bill leaned forward so he could see what impression he was making upon the sheriff. Out of the corner of his eyes Blodgett was watching Bill. "Yes, I knew him well," said the sheriff, gruffly. Bill leaned closer to Blodgett and looked squarely into his eyes, which showed the same doubt as his own. "I learned him all he knew about killing Indians. Did he ever tell you about the duel I fought with Settin' Bull?" "Settin' Bull?" The sheriff sat up straight and let his glance travel the length of Bill's body and back again to the old man's eyes, which were not quivering a lash. "He was standin' when I shot him," grinned Bill. "I never took advantage of nobody, not even an Indian." The sheriff relaxed contemptuously into his chair again. "You've got a bee in your bonnet, 'ain't you?" "What do you know 'bout bees?" Bill started to roll a cigarette. "Not much. Do you?" was Blodgett's reply as he looked straight ahead. Bill slowly rolled the weed, put it in his mouth, and chewed on the end of it. Then he made slow answer, halting between sentences, his eyes slanting toward Blodgett to gather the effect of his words: "I know all about 'em. I used to be in the bee business. Drove a swarm of bees across the plains in the dead of winter once. And never lost a bee. Got stung twice."