“Yeah?” Thus Harp sarcastically. “Yeah. I don’t care much for a girl that talks all the time about another feller.” “Who’d she talk about?” demanded Harp quickly. “If you don’t know, I’m not goin’ to tell yuh.” “Leach?” “Nope; never mentioned his name.” “Huh!” Harp arose and yawned widely. “Is Mrs. Wesson at home?” “I don’t think so.” “I think yo’re a liar, Brick.” “Well, why don’tcha go and find out for yourself, Harp?” Harp grinned and sauntered into the back room, from whence came the sounds of razor stropping and splashing water. Silent groaned aloud. “You touch my red tie and I’ll massacree yuh,” warned Brick. “Where do yuh think I’m goin’—to a bull-fight?” spluttered Harp. “I’ve got a green one.” “You must have,” observed Silent meaningly. “She must have astigmatism, too.” Silent sneaked softly out and Brick went out behind him, while Harp swore softly and searched for something to throw at them. * * * * * The following day Brick rode through Big Elk Cañon alone. He found plenty of evidence that cattle had been butchered, but was unable to find anything that would show who owned the animals nor who had done the killing. It was well past noon when he arrived at the Red Hill mine and found Sam Leach and Hank Stagg in Barney Devine’s office. They were all smoking cigars, and a half-empty whisky bottle was on the table. Brick knew that Hank Stagg was electioneering. The men were all civil enough, but Brick knew that Leach and Stagg were not at all pleased at his appearance. “How’s the sheriff?” queried Hank Stagg thickly. Hank had imbibed much of his own liquor. “He’s just about right,” grinned Brick. “It’s a good thing that he thinks well of himself,” observed Sam Leach sarcastically. “’Cause nobody else does, eh?” grinned Brick. “You said it yourself,” reminded Leach, helping himself to a drink. Brick laughed and stretched his legs. “There’s no use of quarrelin’, Leach. You don’t like me, and I sure hate —— out of you; so let’s let it go as it lays.” “What’d I ever do to you?” demanded Leach. “Some folks don’t have to do anythin’ to me,” said Brick coldly. “I’m not that particular.” “Aw, let’s be friends,” suggested Hank Stagg. “Have a drink, Brick. There ain’t none of us perfect. Sam has had too many shots out of the old bottle today, and it’s kinda soured on him.” But Brick grinned and declined the drink. Sam got to his feet and picked up his hat. “You don’t mind if we go and talk to some of the men, do yuh, Devine?” he asked. “Go to it,” smiled Barney. He had imbibed enough to make him feel kindly toward every one. Hank corked the bottle, shoved it into his hip-pocket and followed Leach outside, where they headed for the mine bunkhouse. Devine laughed and held out a handful of cigars to Brick. “Might as well smoke on Hank Stagg, Brick. I’ve tried five of ’em, and not one will draw. But that hooch has authority.”