Tex chuckled and nodded. "He up an’ says he’s so plumb disgusted with hisself that he ain’t never goin’ to tote a gun again, not never. Seems to me yo’re doin’ a lot of foolish worryin’ about losin’ that job. That ain’t no job to worry about. If I was Gus Williams’ only relation, you wouldn’t see me lookin’ for no jobs! You shore got th’ wrong idea, Hennery. What do you want to work for, anyhow?" "Well," considered the nephew of the uncle who some day would die, "that is one way of lookin’ at it; but, Tex, he did me out of it. That’s what’s rilin’ me!" Tex leaned back and laughed heartily. "Hennery, you make me laugh! If I got mad an’ riled at every dog that barked at me I’d be plumb soured for life by this time. A man like you should be above holdin’ grudges ag’in’ fellers like Saunders. It ain’t worth th’ risk of spoilin’ yore disposition. Let him have his dried-out bone: you would ’a’ dropped it quick enough, anyhow. An’ if it wasn’t for him gettin’ that two-by-nothin’ old job you wouldn’t never ’a’ seen his sister, would you? Ever think about it like that? Well, what you think? Had I better try to go ridin’ with her ag’in an’ git her to talkin’? Or shall I set back an’ only keep my eyes an’ ears open?" "What’s interestin’ you so much in this here affair?" questioned Henry, his glance resting for a moment on the face of his companion. "Well, I ain’t got that letter," confessed Tex, slyly; "an’ what’s more, I’m afraid I ain’t goin’ to get it, neither, th’ coyote. He lets me come out here, near th’ end of th’ track, an’ then lets me hold th’ sack. Time’s comin’ when I’ll be needin’ a job; an’ yo’re aces-up with yore uncle." He grinned engagingly. "My cards is face up. I got to look out for myself." Henry laughed softly. "You shore had me puzzled," he replied. "Well, we’ll see what we see. I don’t hardly know, yet, what kind of a job you ought to have. There’s good jobs, an’ poor jobs. An’ while I think of it, Tex, you’d mebby better go ridin’ with her ag’in. But don’t you forget what I was sayin’ about there bein’ other ways than gun-throwin’ in Windsor. I----" The low hum of conversation about them ceased as abruptly as did Henry’s words. He was looking at the door, and sensing danger, Tex pushed back quietly and followed his companion’s gaze. Jake, under the influence of liquor, stood in the doorway, a gun in his upraised hand, staring with unbelieving eyes at the body of Bud Haines. "Stop that fool!" whispered Tex. "I’ve done too much killin’ today: an’ he’s drunk!" Henry arose and walked quietly, swiftly toward the vengeful miner, who now turned and looked about the room. A spasm of rage shot through him and his hand chopped down, but Henry knocked it aside and the heavy bullet scored the wall. Two men near the door leaped forward at the nephew’s call and after a short struggle, Jake was disarmed, pacified, and sent on his way again.