"I'll bet you a hundred dollars," roared the rancher, "that you can't get over fourteen cents for hops in this valley this fall." "I will bet you that amount that I can get at least sixteen cents for the Indians on the reservation." "Where's your money?" said Lamson, drawing out a roll of bills. Kitsap had not looked for this. He was puzzled for a moment. Then he drew forth a pocket check-book, signed a check, and handed it to an Indian rancher, who endorsed it. Turning to Lamson, Kitsap said: [Illustration: _Copyrighted by E. S. Curtis, Seattle_ "ON ALL SIDES THE HOP-PICKERS WERE MAKING MERRY"] "Will this do, or shall I telephone the cashier to assure its payment?" "It's good," said Lamson. "Very well. But if you are so sure about the price of hops, Mr. Two Lies, why don't you make it two to one that I can't get seventeen cents?" "That's my money!" and Lamson began counting out another hundred. "Or three to one that I can't get eighteen cents?" "It goes!" "Or four to one that I can't get nineteen cents?" "Yes; or five to one that you can't get twenty," roared the exasperated planter. "Five to one," replied Kitsap. "And if I win, I will throw your money in silver from the steps of the reservation school to the Indian children." Kitsap noted the effect on the Indians in the room as the money was placed in the hands of the town marshal. He knew how every red man on the reservation would work for twenty-cent hops now. But the Indian was not through with the white man. He turned on him again. "If you think the bank lied when it said eighteen cents, there is a telephone. Call up the cashier at his home. He sent me here to tell the white men and Indians who are our clients. Ask him for yourself." Lamson and the three buyers noted the words "Our clients." To Lamson it brought identification of the Indian as Johnny Kitsap, the clerk; to the buyers it was just mysterious enough to be alarming. "Confound the cashier! All he knows is what somebody else has told him." "Mr. Lamson, do you yourself think that fourteen cents for hops to-day is a fair price?" asked Kitsap, suddenly taking a conciliatory tone. "Certainly I do. But if I want to buy hops at fourteen cents now and hold them on a speculation, it's my own business." "Entirely," said the Indian. "But I believe your conduct with the ranchers who have agreed to sell is based on your statement that you had already sold your own hops to these buyers from St. Louis for fourteen cents." "That's right," said Lamson boldly. "I can sell my hops for what I like." "Liar," said Kitsap, "you have _not_ sold your hops." Lamson sprang to his feet, but the big rancher put out a big hand and shoved him back. "Sit down," said the big man. "Can't you see this here Kitsap's got the floor?"