Keating stared curiously at the road boss for a minute, then he glanced again at the super’s letter which he still held in his hand. “Carleton says he is depending on you to put this work through if it’s a possible thing. You don’t really think we’ll have any serious trouble here though, do you?” Spirlaw bit deeply into his plug before he answered. “Yes, son; I do,” he said at last, “And there’s a good many reasons why we will, too. Once start ‘em goin’ an’ there’s no worse hellions on earth than the breed we’re livin’ next door to. Furthermore they don’t _love_ me--they’re just afraid of me as, by the holy razoo, I mean ‘em to be. Let ‘em once get a smell of the upper hand an’ it would be all day _an_’ good-by. Let ‘em get goin’ good at Big Cloud an’ they’ll get goin’ good here--they’ll kind of figur’ then that there ain’t any law to bother ‘em--an’, unless I miss my guess, Big Cloud’s in for the hottest celebration in its history, which will be goin’ some for it’s had a few before that weren’t tame by a damn sight.” “Well,” inquired Keating, “what do you intend to do?” “H’m-m,” drawled Spirlaw reflectively, and there was a speculative look in his eyes as they roved over his assistant. “That’s what I’ve been chewin’ over since I caught that skunk Kuryla last night. As far as I can figur’ it the chance of trouble here depends on how far those cusses go at Big Cloud. If I knew that, I’d know what to expect, h’m? I thought I’d send you up to headquarters for a day. You could have a talk with the super, tell him just where we stand here, an’ size things up there generally. What do you say?” “Why, of course. All right, if you want me to,” agreed Keating readily. “That’s the boy,” said Spirlaw, heartily. “Number Twelve will be along in half an hour. I’ll flag her, an’ you can go an’ get ready now. I’ll give you a letter to take along to Carleton.” As Keating, with a nod of assent, turned briskly away, Spirlaw watched him out of sight--and the hint of a smile played over the lips of the road boss. He pulled a report sheet from his pocket, and on the back of it scrawled laboriously a letter to the superintendent of the Hill Division. It wasn’t a very long letter even with the P. S. included. His smile hardened as he read it over. “Supt., Big Cloud,” it ran. “Dear Sir:--Replying to yours 8th inst., please send a couple of good.45s, and _plenty of stuffing_. [‘Plenty of stuffing’ was heavily underscored.) Yrs. Resp., H. Spirlaw. P.S. _Keep the boy up there out of this_.” (The P. S. was even more heavily underscored than the other.)