“I dunno how much of a detective he is,” decided Brick, “but he’s a gun-man, if there ever was one. Mister Santel, me and you may not travel well together, but I ain’t goin’ to choose you in case I’m lookin’ for trouble. You’re a salty son-of-a-gun, even if yuh do decorate yore leather panties with dude buttons; and if you don’t mind I’d kinda like to be on yore side.” * * * * * The search for Whizzer Malloy was a failure. Several men came from Silverton and Barney Devine sent out a big crew from the Red Hill mine, but to no avail. Every inch of the big cañon and the mountains surrounding it had been explored, but there was not even a footprint to show where the little fellow had passed. “She’s not leave de track,” declared Mose La Clede, who had joined the search. “Up de cañon ’bout mile be-ond where de stage go bus’, I’m find de track of beeg griz-i-lee. By gosh, she may be so dat de griz-i-lee find her firs’.” “Aw ——!” snorted Silent. “Even if a grizzly caught the kid, we’d sure find some evidence of it, Mose.” “I’m be not so —— sure. Griz-i-lee pick her up jus’ like you pick up ol’ hat. Dat —— bear she’s strong. She’s pick up de sheep—w’y not de leetle keed, eh?” “Well,” growled Silent, “you don’t need to get such —— pleasant thoughts.” It was hard for the men to give up the search, but there was nothing else to do; so they went back to town. Santel had been with the searchers, as had Grant, Leach and Hendricks. Brick had told Harp and Silent who Santel was, and both of them, while they did not admire Santel, admitted that he looked able to take care of himself. Hank Stagg hired another stage-driver in the person of Sidney Howley, who had formerly been a “swamper” in the Short Horn saloon. In other words, Howley had been employed to clean up the place. Howley was an angular-built young man, with a bony face, long nose and lack-luster eyes; sort of a colorless person, with only enough initiative to roll cigarets and use a mop. Stage driving was not exactly a lucrative occupation, and perhaps Hank might have been forgiven for adding Howley to his staff. And, anyway, Hank was too busy electioneering to spend his valuable time in examining applicants for the position. From a word dropped here and there, Brick felt that Sam Leach was behind Hank’s campaign. “Still there ain’t nothin’ funny about that,” decided Brick. “Me and Hank and Sam all belong to the same political party—and Sam don’t like me. Naturally he picks Hank.” “Well,” remarked the philosophic Harp, “if yo’re beat, mebbe I’ll get a little rest. This here ——ed deputy job costs me a lot of sleep. And I’ve always got to be goin’ around, lookin’ like I knowed somethin’, when I don’t know a —— thing.” “There’s a difference of sixty dollars a month between yore present job and punchin’ cows,” reminded Brick.