When they had left the railroad a hundred yards behind they dismounted and began walking through the sage toward Aaron’s place. The three or four cabins they had to pass to get there were in darkness. A light burned in an upper window of Gallup’s house. “Tobias and him countin’ up the day’s profits, no doubt,” Johnny thought. The Indian heard the boy muttering. “’Bout time I begun doin’ a little countin’ up myself,” Johnny went on. Aloud, then, to Charlie he said: “You git ahead now. No noise, no tracks, you savvy?” Again the Indian answered with a nod of his head. In ten minutes they were lurking in the shadows beneath the lighted window. Aaron’s house was a story and a half affair, and the lighted window at least ten feet from the ground. They could hear the murmur of voices, but the closed window kept them from understanding a word of what was being said. A stone’s throw away the lights of the Palace Hotel burned brightly; Johnny turned a wistful eye toward it. In a way it was his Times Square—his Broadway. He wondered who was facing Scanlon tonight. Something whispered to him that his evenings there were a thing of the past. Gambling with him had been an art, but it was a sorry accomplishment, one that would be of doubtful value to him in the days to come. Unknown to Johnny, this reasoning was based on the fact that subconsciously he saw himself treading the future at Molly Kent’s side. A through freight thundered by as the two men waited, undecided as to their next move. Charlie looked blankly at the boy. “How you get up there?” he whispered. “I’ll tell you,” Johnny answered, an idea breaking in on him. “I stand on your shoulders, Charlie, you know, like this”—the boy stooped and then arose, clasping the legs of an imaginary man. “You understand?” Again that unemotional nod from the Indian. Getting down upon all fours, he waited for Johnny to climb into position. The boy straightened up, using the side of the house to help him retain his balance. “Move along,” he whispered. “Stop when I signal.” They had only ten feet to go. Charlie felt Johnny’s legs stiffen as the boy came abreast the window. The Indian stopped. “Steady,” Johnny warned as he pressed his face to the glass. He started as he beheld Gallup’s companion. It was Tony Madeiras! The Basque seemed to be having the best of the conversation. Tony had his hat on, pushed back from his forehead, his black hair curling out from beneath the brim. Something strange about the hat caught and held Johnny’s attention. It was the little gold snake snapped in the hat band. “Traynor’s luck piece or I’m a liar,” Johnny gasped to himself. “Where in God’s name did the Basque git it?” He could see that Tony was enjoying himself. He knew Madeiras’ manner when things were going his way. A smile all insolence wreathed the man’s face. His eyes were contemplative, cruel. Gallup cowered before them.