"Here, here!" he exclaimed as Oleson began to rave. "Don’t you go an’ get all het up like that. I reckon I can keep my face shut. An’ lemme observe in yore hat-like ear that if th’ rest of this gang is like th’ samples I seen in town, a good gun-man would shore be robbin’ you to take all that money for th’ job. Fifty a month, for two months, would be a-plenty." Oleson’s dismay was fading, and he accepted the situation with a grim smile. "You don’t know them fellers," he replied. "They ’re a bad lot, an’ won’t stop at nothin’." "All right. Let’s take a look at them cows. I want to get home soon as I can." Oleson shook his head. "I gave you up, an’ when I got a better offer I let ’em go. I ’m sorry you had th’ ride for nothin’, but I could n’t get word to you." Bill led the way in silence back to the bunk house and mounted his horse. "All right," he nodded. "I shore was late. Well, I ’ll be goin’." "That gun-man is late, too," said Oleson. "Mebby he ain’t comin’. You want th’ job at _my_ figgers?" "Nope. I got a better job, though it don’t pay so much money. It’s steady, an’ a hull lot cleaner. So-long," and Bill loped away, closely watched by Shorty Allen from the corral. And after an interval, Shorty mounted and swung out of the other gate of the corral and rode along the bottom of an arroyo until he felt it was safe to follow Bill’s trail. When Shorty turned back he was almost to town, and he would not have been pleased had he known that Bill knew of the trailing for the last ten miles. Bill had doubled back and was within a hundred yards of Shorty when that person turned ranchward. "Huh! I must be popular," grunted Bill. "I reckon I will stay in Clay Gulch till t’morrow mornin’; an’ at the Victoria," he grinned. Then he laughed heartily. "Victoria! I got a better name for it than that, all right." When he pulled up before the Victoria and looked in the proprietor scowled at him, which made Bill frown as he went on to Hawley’s. Putting his horse in the corral he carried his saddle and rifle into the barroom and looked around. There was no one in sight, and he smiled. Putting the saddle and rifle back in one corner under the bar and covering them with gunny sacks he strolled to the Victoria and entered through the rear door. The proprietor reached for his gun but reconsidered in time and picked up a glass, which he polished with exaggerated care. There was something about the stranger that obtruded upon his peace of mind and confidence. He would let some one else try the stranger out.