“He’s a plumb liar. He didn’t find any such thing. If there was any such discovery made in them days, it was me that done it. Youbetcha! But _him_! Huh! Anyway, it’s all buried deeper ’n the Pit—take it from me,” and, grumbling, Steve Siebert rode on. “Believe me, Willie,” said Hurley, “there’s a case for you. Try to get those two together.” “These two old men are enemies?” asked Hunt quietly. “That’s no name for it. They hate each other as only two fellers can who once were the closest friends. Old Steve and Andy were once as close as twins. But they tell me for twenty years they have been snarling at and back-biting each other something scandalous. If you want to introduce love and kindness into the hearts of Canyon Pass folks, Willie, just give those two old ruffians a whirl.” He laughed—not the kind of laugh he would have uttered some weeks before. There was a sneering note in Joe Hurley’s voice now when he spoke of Hunt’s work and the better things of life. The parson noted it now as he had often noticed it of late, but he said nothing in comment at this time. He merely observed, before separating from Joe to return to the hotel for supper: “Drop into the meeting room to-night, Joe. You haven’t shown much interest in the Men’s Club lately, and the work should have your approval. Besides, there are certain business matters that must be discussed at once.” “Well,” said Joe gruffly. He did not promise to attend. He did not attend. “I wonder what kept Joe away?” Hunt ventured to Judson, as they, the last of the company, left the meeting room and the parson locked the door. That was never left unlocked since Nell Blossom’s trick with Mother Tubbs’ Bible. “I expected him to-night to give us his views on that matter.” The old storekeeper turned to him and grinned. “Joe’s mighty busy, I reckon,” he said. “In the evening?” “This evening, youbetcha!” “In just what way, Judson? What’s up your sleeve?” “My funnybone,” chuckled the storekeeper. “And I have to laugh. Just about once in so often Joe seems to lose ev’ry mite of sense he was born with. He thinks he can beat the man that got the first patent out on stud poker.” “Ah! I know Joe used to like cards. When he was East. But now——Is it as bad as you intimate, Judson?” “Some worse, I’m free to say,” declared the old man. “Joe’s gone up against Colorado Brown’s dealer, Miguel, several times lately. They get up a round game of a few fellers—all friends. But Miguel is always playin’ for the house. He’s a wonder. ‘Last Card Mike’ they sometimes call him. He seems to be able to read clean through the backs of any pack o’ cards you put up to him. He’s a wizard—no mistake.” “You mean that Joe is losing money in this game?” asked Hunt, with some apprehension. “Me, I’d just as soon bet on flies with their shoes stuck in molasses as to play stud. Youbetcha!” returned Judson, with a chuckle.