It was several days later that Soapy Caswell came to Marlin City, driving a spirited pair of bronchos, hitched to a buckboard. He tied them at the Dollar Down hitch-rack and met Brick in front of Wesson’s store. “Goin’ some place, or just got there?” queried Brick. “If I wanted to go some place, I wouldn’t stop here,” grunted Soapy. “Don’t like yore town. What do yuh think of that?” “That’s fine,” grinned Brick. “Mebbe we better call a meetin’ and let everybody grieve. What do yuh know, Soapy?” “Danged little, Brick. Doin’ any good for yoreself?” “Not much.” “Uh-huh.” Soapy lowered his voice. “Did that detective ever show up?” “Been here quite a while, Soapy. Name’s Santel.” “Tha’sso? I reckon I might as well expect to get all that stolen money back pretty soon, eh?” “Yuh might as well expect to, Soapy.” “Gosh, that’s fine! I’m all excited, like an old lady. It’s too bad he wasn’t here to find the little Malloy boy.” “He was here. He helped hunt for him, Soapy.” “Pshaw! Then he ain’t no wizard, is he? Well, mebbe I won’t get that money back. What are yuh doin’ today, Brick? Anythin’ special?” “Nope.” “Then come and take a ride with me, will yuh? I’ve got to go out to the Red Hill mine and see Barney Devine, and I sure hate to travel alone. We’ll be comin’ right back. What do yuh say?” “Well, all right, Soapy. I’ll tell Harp that I’m goin’.” Brick went to the office, where he found Harp stretched out on a cot, groaning out an alleged tune on his jew’s-harp. “I’m goin’ to Red Hill with Soapy Caswell,” stated Brick. “If anybody tries to break into jail—stop ’em, Harp.” “Aw-w-w right. Leave me plenty of shells for the riot-gun and I’ll sure keep the place sanitary. I’ve got a new tune, Brick. Listen to this, will yuh? It’s a dinger. Wa-a-ait a minute!” But Brick ducked out through the doorway and hurried up to the hitch-rack, where Soapy waited for him. Harp got up and went to the doorway, where he watched Soapy and Brick drive out of town. Slim Hunter was dismounting in front of Wesson’s store, so Harp wandered up there. Slim was talking to Cale Wesson about putting up an announcement in his store, when Harp came in. “Hello, yuh long-geared ant-eater,” greeted Harp. “Same to you, you bat-eared cattywampus,” grinned Slim. “How are yuh?” “Finer ’n frawg-hair. Watcha doin’, Slim?” “Advertisin’ a dance.” “Tha’sso? Where—Silverton?” “Y’betcha. Next Friday night. Oyster supper, too. Goin’ to have some reg’lar music, too, Harp. Yuh want t’ be there.” “Friday night, eh?” Harp was thinking fast. Here was his chance to take Miss Miller and he was not going to lose any time in asking her. “See yuh later, Slim,” he grunted, turning to the door. “I’m kinda in a hurry right now.” Harp went outside and headed for Wesson’s home, going as fast as he could walk on high heels. Mrs. Wesson answered his knock, squinting at him quizzically. “Miss Miller to home?” asked Harp. Mrs. Wesson shook her head.