"We had a few bad men round this settlement--toughs, who had no use for work. Folks of their kind are like the fever--they're infectious--and it's a kind of curious thing that for a while the bad man generally comes out on top. His trouble is that he can't stay there, for something big and heavy is surely going to fall on him sooner or later. Still, those men had a big combine at the back of them and they got hold. They'd have kept it longer, only that one man had a bigger head than most of us. He'll tell you that the one straight way to get money is to work for it, and that the folks who begin by robbing the Government end by robbing everybody else. He found the combine up against him, but while some of us backed down he stood fast. He wouldn't be fooled or bullied, and, though he didn't go round saying so, when the time came that big and well-handled combine went down. Now it's my pleasant duty to offer your thanks to Mr. Oliver for freeing you from what would have been the ugliest kind of tyranny." He sat down amid applause, and another man got up. "I'm glad to second that," he announced. "We were easy with the opium gang when they began. It was pleasant to get a roll of bills now and then for just leaving a team handy and saying nothing if we found a case in the stable; but we didn't see where that led." He stopped and turned to Mr. Barclay, who was smiling at him. "What'd you say, sir?" "It struck me that you were forgetting what my profession is," Mr. Barclay answered dryly. "You're not compelled to give yourself and your friends away." This remark was followed by laughter; then the speaker proceeded: "Anyhow, the dope boys began to change their tone. At first, they paid and asked favors; but when they got folks so they couldn't go back on them they ordered, and seldom paid at all. It was getting what my friend calls tyranny, and the small man had to stand in and ask the gang for leave to live. We'd have been in a mighty tight place now if one rancher hadn't boldly stood out. That's why we're offering our best thanks to Mr. Oliver, who got up and fought the gang." There was a shout that set the shingles rattling overhead, and when it died away Mr. Oliver, who looked embarrassed, said a few simple words, which were followed by riotous applause. Then Frank looking around saw that a sheet of newspaper with three pictures on it was pinned to the wall. "What's that thing?" he asked, leaning back to touch Harry. "You're nearer it." One of the men took the paper down and handed it to him. "Well," he drawled, "I guess you ought to know your own likeness." Frank gasped as he took the paper, for the two portraits at the top of it were of Harry and himself, and underneath them appeared the dog. There was a conspicuous black heading over them. "_The modest salvors of the opium schooner, and their dog_," it read.