"I don't believe O'Leary heard any of our conversation. He met me down street and smirked and grinned and tried to invite himself up to see me to-night. But I settled him. I said I'd be busy for the next two weeks. Look here, Tom, don't look so worried. If he heard what we said, don't you suppose he'd leave town immediately? Of course he would. He wouldn't dare stay." "I ain't so shore about that. He's no fool, Pete O'Leary ain't. He knows there ain't no real evidence against him. We only got suspicions, that's all. Enough for us, all right, but nothin' like enough to land him. No, he wouldn't vamoose right now. That'd give him away. He'll stay an' bluff it through as long as he can. Then, again, if he pulls out he ain't no good to the 88 no more. He's needed up here to let 'em know how things are pannin' out. Say, yuh didn't let them ladies suspicion what yuh was after, did yuh?" "Of course not. I have a little sense. I made my inquiries quite casually in the course of conversation. Don't fret, they won't have a thing to gossip about." "That's good. I might 'a' knowed yuh'd be careful." With a start he realized that he was commending her, actually commending the girl who had once informed him in withering accents that she would never marry an ignorant puncher. Here she was pathetically anxious to execute his every wish. Apparently she had stopped flirting, too. As she flitted between his room and the kitchen he looked at her out of amazed eyes. Measuring her by her one-time frivolous and coquettish actions, the new Kate was rather astonishing. Man-like, Loudon began to suspect some trap. The lady was too good to be true. "Bet she's tollin' me on," he told himself. "I'll ask her again, an' then pop'll go the weasel. No, sirree, I know when I'm well off. As a friend, so long as she acts thisaway, she's ace-high, but I'll bet after marriage she'd develop tempers an' things like that Sue Shimmers girl Scotty told me about. Shore she would. Not a doubt of it. Yessir, single cussedness for Tom Loudon from now on henceforward. I'll gamble an' go the limit, it's got double blessedness backed clean off the table." Lying in bed was not doing Tom Loudon a bit of good. He was fast becoming priggishly cynical. Which attitude of mind may have been natural, but was certainly abominably ungallant. Long after the others in the house were asleep Loudon lay awake. His brain was busy fashioning plans for the undoing of the 88 outfit. It suddenly struck him that the guileful O'Leary undoubtedly wrote letters. A knowledge of the addresses on those letters was of paramount importance. It would wonderfully simplify matters. The storekeeper, Ragsdale, was the Bend postmaster. Loudon knew that Ragsdale was not given to idle chatter. He resolved to take Ragsdale into his confidence. In the morning after breakfast, Kate, first making sure that Mrs. Mace and Dorothy were out of earshot, stooped over the bed.