“With one leap he covered the distance between us and was at Guerrin’s throat. But that half-breed was like a wild cat; he squirmed free and was off on the forward trail where it opened into a little lake, Paul after him like a hound after a fox. ‘Shoot! shoot!’ I kept yelling. He paid no attention. I laced up my moccasins, tied up my foot and hobbled off as best I could after them. I hadn’t gone one hundred yards when I came on ’em. Say, there was nothing to it. That boy was all over him like ten thousand cats, and before I could come up had him lying quiet and still, not a move out of him. I don’t know what he did or how—knocked him out, I fancy—but that breed walked back to camp, dropped to his bed and went to sleep like a baby. “‘How in hell did you get him?’ I shouted at him, for I confess I was considerably worked up. “‘Oh, quite easy. He can’t run very fast and he doesn’t know how to fight.’ The champion runner and the wickedest fighter in the North Country! “‘Where did you learn to fight?’ “‘Uncle taught me to box, and I used to wrestle with the Indians in the north.’ I learned after some trouble that he had licked the whole tribe at it. “The rest of the journey was like a walk to church. I wanted him for the force, but he’s bound to make money and make it fast. That’s why he went to you. How is he doing?” “All right. Quiet chap. The boys haven’t quite got on to him, poke fun at him a bit. ‘Squatty’ Hayes is inclined to ride him a bit.” “Well, my advice to Mr. ‘Squatty’ Hayes is to not monkey with the band wagon or he may get his feet in the spokes.” “He is keen now about learning the rope, working at it every off minute. He can ride all right, but doesn’t know the rope.” “He’ll get it. That’s his kind. He’s a finisher, you hear me. I’m interested in that boy. Owe him a lot. Besides, he has a way that gets me. And the missus and the kids are just a little worse.” “All right, Starr, we’ll do our best for him. We’ll shove him along all we can.”