"You don't suppose this boob will try to fight, do you, when he knows Jeffries will burn the shack over his head if another railroad man is attacked in it?" demanded Pardaloe. "The most ruinous habit I have had in life--and first and last I have contracted many--has been, trusting other people," observed Lefever. "A man shouldn't trust anybody--not even himself. We can burn the boob's shack down--of course: but if you go in there alone the ensuing blaze would be of no particular interest to you." "All right. We go in together." "Not exactly that, either. You go first. Few of these forty-four bullets will go through two men at once." Ignoring Lefever's pleasantry, Pardaloe, pulling his hat brim through force of habit well over his eyes, shook himself loose and, like a big cat walking in water, stepped toward the door. He could move his tall, bony frame, seemingly covered only with muscles and sinews, so silently that in the dark he made no more sound than a spectre. But once before the door, with Lefever close at hand, he pounded the cracked panels till the windows shook. Some time elapsed before there was any response. The pounding continued till a flickering light appeared at a window. There was an ill-natured colloquy, a delay, more impatience, and at length the landlord reluctantly opened the door. He held in his hand an oil-lamp. The chimney had been smoked in such a way that the light of the flame was thrown forward and not back. Lefever in the background, nothing disturbed, threw a flash-light back at the half-dressed innkeeper. His hair was tumbled sleepily across his forehead and his eyes--one showing a white scar across the pupil--set deep in retreating orbits, blinked under heavy brows. "What do you want?" he demanded. Pardaloe, without answering, pushed through the half-open door into the room. "We're staying here to-night," announced Pardaloe, as simply as possible. Lefever had already edged into the doorway, pushing the stubborn innkeeper aside by sheer bulk of weight and size. The sleepy man gave ground stubbornly. "I've got no beds," he growled surlily. "You can't stay here." Lefever at once assumed the case for the intruders. "I could sleep this minute standing on my head," he declared. "And as for staying here, I can't stay anywhere else. What's your name, son?" he demanded, buttonholing in his off-hand way the protesting man. "My name is Philippi," answered the one-eyed defiantly. "Regards to Brutus, my dear fellow," retorted Lefever, seizing the man's hand as if happily surprised. "You can't crowd in here, so you might as well move on," declared Philippi gruffly. "This is no hotel." Lefever laughed. "No offense, Philippi, but would it be indiscreet to ask which side of your face hurts the most when you smile?" "If you've got no beds, we won't bother you long," interposed Pardaloe. "I'd like a pitcher of ice-water, anyway," persisted Lefever. "Sit down, noble Greek; we'll talk this over."