As his talk grew louder, Fadeaway cautioned him. "Easy, Billy. No use advertisin'. Come on over here." And Fadeaway gestured toward one of the tables in the rear of the room. Corliss was about to retort to the other's apparently good-natured interference with his right to free speech, when he caught Fadeaway's glance. "Well?" he exclaimed. The cowboy evidently had something to say in confidence. Corliss followed him to one of the tables. "It's this way," began the cowboy. "You're sore at Jack. Now Jack's got friends here and it won't help you any to let 'em know you're sore at him. I ain't feelin' like kissin' him myself--right now. But I ain't advertisin' it. What you want to do is--" "What's that got to do with me?" interrupted Corliss. Fadeaway laughed. "Nothin'--if you like. Only there's been doin's since you lit out." And he paused to let the inference sink in. "You mean--?" "Look here, Billy. I been your friend ever since you was a kid. And seein' you're kind of out of luck makes me sore--when I think what's yours by rights. Mebby I'm ridin' over the line some to say it, but from what I seen since you been gone, Jack ain't goin' to cry any if you never come back. Old man Loring ain't goin' to live more'n a thousand years. Mebby Jack don't jest love him--but Jack ain't been losin' any time since you been gone." Corliss flushed. "I suppose I don't know that! But he hasn't seen the last of me yet." "If I had what's comin' to you, you bet I wouldn't work on no cattle-ranch, either. I'd sure hire a law-shark and find out where I got off." Fadeaway's suggestion had its intended effect. The younger man knew that an appeal to the law would be futile so long as he chose to ignore that clause in the will which covered the contingency he was illustrating by his conduct. Fadeaway again cautioned him as he became loud in his invective against his brother. The cowboy, while posing as friend and adviser, was in reality working out a subtle plan of his own, a plan of which Corliss had not the slightest inkling. "And the Concho's makin' good," said Fadeaway, helping himself to a drink. He shoved the bottle toward Corliss. "Take a little 'Forget-it,' Billy. That's her! Here's to what's yours!" They drank together. The cowboy rolled a cigarette, tilted back his chair, and puffed thoughtfully. "Yes, she's makin' good. Why, Bud is gettin' a hundred and twenty-five, now. Old Hi Wingle's drawin' down eighty--Jack's payin' the best wages in this country. Must of cleaned up four or five thousand last year. And here you're settin', broke." "Well, you needn't rub it in," said Corliss, frowning. Fadeaway grinned. "I ain't, Billy. I'm out of a job myself: and nothin' comin'--like you."