The colonel was quite unmoved by the other's sentiment, he had heard the same thing before many times. Tom had come into a comfortable property on his father's death; this he had promptly squandered. He had gone from bad to worse—guide, scout, packer, and lastly buffalo hunter, who between debauches had done his part in the ruthless war of extermination which had been waged against the great herds of the plain; but the herds had disappeared, and this shiftless means of livelihood had gone with them. Sometimes he worked with Roger's forces, but most of the time he spent in and about Carson, subsisting by means it was not well to inquire too closely into. He was counted a dangerous man, not that he had ever risen to any very splendid villainies, but he was a man that the other men shunned unless they were of his own class. “What is it, Tom?” said Rogers, “You're in trouble, I suppose, or you wouldn't be here hiding.” “There was trouble in Carson,” said Tom in a meditative drawl. “Benny, these here cow towns is the God forsakenest places in all this God forsaken country. Who'd a thought that me at my time of life, when I've always done what I thought was right—” The colonel moved impatiently. “Get down to business, Tom,” he urged. “Well, say Benny, can you stake me for a long jump? I reckon it'll be plumb to Texas this time.” “What have you done, Tom?” asked Rogers. “I've shot a man, Ben.” “I reckoned so,” said the colonel in a hard voice. “A man that said I sold beef that hadn't 'airy brand of mine on it. Now that was a hell of a thing to say of a man who's always tried to act right and square.” “Who was it?” “Which he knew it was a lie, and you know it was a lie, Benny.” “Who was it?” repeated Rogers. “Chesney.” “Did you kill him?” “I dunno. Hope so,” said Tom indifferently. “I didn't wait to see, I just pushed out for here.” “And they'll be pushing after you.” “I reckon that's so all right, as soon as they can get together a posse.” “I can't have them find you here, Tom,” said the colonel. “You know there's a limit—” “I didn't think you'd show me your back! I've been a good friend to you, Ben, and if I hadn't been, father was. Can you deny that—no, sir!” “He was the best friend I ever had.” “I'm glad you ain't forgot it, Ben Rogers! He gave you your start—you've always been man enough to own that.” “Don't you think I've about squared that with you?” said the colonel again impatiently. “I ain't here to ask no favours, Benny, you can rest easy on that; I'm here to make a fair trade.” “Yes,” said Rogers wearily. He was familiar with the old buffalo hunter's idea of a fair trade. “You're seeing the last of me, Benny, you'll be clean shut of me when I hit the trail this time.” The colonel hoped so, though this hope did not find, expression in words. “I'll want a good horse, for I played mine out getting here.” “Yes,” said Rogers.