"She’s not foolish," replied Tex with conviction. "She’s wise, riskin’ herself mebby, on a long chance. While she stays here Costigan will use a lot of discretion--if she goes, he might air his opinions too much, or get drunk and leave her a widow. I’ll do what I can to stave off trouble, even to eatin’ a little dirt; but, Tim, I’d like nothing better than to send for a few friends an’ let things take their natural course. Every time I look at that nephew I fair itch to strangle him. It can’t be possible that Miss Saunders gives him any encouragement? I’m much obliged about yore offer. I’d take it up right now except that it would cause a lot of talk an’ thinkin’. Here, you better hand me two dollars for my day’s work--there ain’t no use lyin’ about anythin’ if th’ truth will serve. I’ll return it th’ next time I see you." "Th’ lass won’t look at that scut. He follers her around like a dog," Murphy growled, and then a grin came to his face as he dug into his pocket. "Here. Yer overpaid, but I should ’a’ dickered with ye before I let ye go to work." "Thanks, boss," chuckled Tex. "You’ll need me tomorrow, for th’ wire stringin’?" "Yer fired!" answered Murphy, his voice rising and changing in timbre. "Yer a loafin’, windy, clumsy, bunglin’ no-account. By rights that ought to make ye mad. Does it?" Tex could not fail to read the answer he was expected to make, for it lay in the section-boss’ tones; and he thought that he had seen something move around the corner of the station. He stepped on the toe of one of his companion’s boots to acknowledge the warning. "Am I?" he demanded, angrily. "Yo’re so d--d used to bossin’ Irish loafers that you don’t know a good man when you see one. You don’t have to fire me, you Mick! I’m quittin’, an’ you can go to h--l!" Murphy’s arm stopped in mid-air as Tex’s gun leaped from its sheath. "You checked it just in time," snapped Tex. "Any more of that an’ I’ll blow you wide open. Turn around an’ hoof it to yore sty!" Murphy, strangling a chuckle, backed warily away. "If ye was as handy with tools as ye are with that d--d gun--" he growled. "’Tis lucky for ye that ye have it!" "This is my tool," retorted Tex. "Shut up an’ get out before you make me use it. Fire me, hey? You got one ---- ---- gall!" He stood staring after the shuffling Irishman, muttering savagely to himself, until the section-boss had been swallowed up by the darkness. Then he turned, slammed the gun back into its holster and stamped toward the hotel; but he stopped in the nearest saloon to give the eavesdropper, if there had been one, a chance to get to the hotel before him. The bar was deserted, but half a dozen prospectors were seated at the tables, and they greeted his entrance with scowls. The two cavalrymen present glanced at him in disinterested, momentary curiosity and resumed their maudlin conversation. Some shavetail’s ears must have been burning out at their post.