"Cut it out, Frank," ordered Threewit. "I've had about enough of this jangling. If it isn't stopped, some one's going to lose a job. We're here to take pictures. Any one who's got any other idea had better call at the office for his time." "Meaning me, Mr. Director?" demanded Harrison menacingly. "Meaning you or anybody else that won't keep the rules I set for the company I run," retorted the director sharply. "Forget it, Threewit. I'm no kid. Nobody runs me with rules. I do as I please." "You'll not make trouble in my company." "You ain't any little tin god on wheels. Don't run away with that idee in your bean. I haven't seen any man yet that can lay onto me without getting his hair curled for him. Me, I play my own hand, by God; and I don't care whether it's against Mr. Yeager or Mr. Farrar--or Mr. Threewit. See?" "Your pay is waiting for you, Harrison." "What? How's that?" he snarled. "You're discharged--no longer working for the Lunar Company." Harrison's face became an apoplectic purple. He stood with clenched fists glaring at the director, ready to explode with rage. It was a part of his vanity that he had not supposed for an instant that Threewit would let him go. But it happened that the director had a temper of his own. He had chafed long enough under the domineering ways of the ex-prizefighter. Moreover, Harrison was no longer so essential to the company. Yeager was a far better rider and could register more effectively the feats of horsemanship that were a feature of the Lunar films. Billie Threewit had known for some time that this man was an element of disorganization in the company. Therefore he was letting him go. Steve stood quietly in the background, one arm thrown carelessly across the neck of his pony. But his gaze did not lift from the heavy, who stood glaring at the director, his fingers working and head thrust low on the deep chest so that the gorilla hunch was emphasized. The man's black eyes snapped with a blazing fire that seemed ready to leap like a crouched tiger. "Through with me, are you? Going to use that grand-stander Yeager instead, I reckon. That's the game, is it?" "I'm not discussing my plans with you." "Ain't you? Well, I'll discuss mine to this extent. I'll make you sick of this day's work all right before I'm through with you. Get that? Plumb sick." His eyes traveled around the half-circle till they met those of Yeager. "You'll get yours too, my friend. Believe _me_. Get it a-plenty. You're going to sweat blood when I git you hog-tied." He turned away, flung himself on his horse, and dug the rowels into the sides of the animal savagely. Farrar laughed nervously. "Exit Mr. Chad Harrison, some annoyed." Steve looked gravely at his employer. "Sorry you tied that can on him, Mr. Threewit. He's not just the man I'd choose for an enemy if I was picking one." "Had to do it sometime. The sooner the quicker. Anyhow, he hasn't got it in for me as much as he has for you."