"If I could think of a worse word than corruption I'd correct you, so I'll let that stand. Digger Foss is Old Man Selden's right hand; and Old Man Selden is Pythias to the prosecuting attorney of this man's county." Oliver's eyes widened. "Elmer Standard is the gentleman in question. What connection there can be between him and Adam Selden is too many for me; but Selden goes to see him whenever he rides to the county seat. Only the right witnesses were allowed to take the stand, you may be confident. I knew the halfbreed's acquittal was a foregone conclusion before the smoke from his gat had cleared." Both were silent for a time, then she said: "Elmer Standard runs things down at the county seat. I've heard that he allows open gambling, and that he personally finances three saloons and several gaming places." "But there are no saloons now." "Indeed!" she said with mock innocence. "I didn't know. I never have frequented them, so you'll overlook my ignorance. Anyway, Digger Foss is as free as the day he was born; and Henry Dodd, the man he murdered, lies in the little cemetery in the pines near Halfmoon Flat. But there's another piece of news: Adam Selden has--" "Pardon my interrupting you," he put in, "but you haven't finished with Digger Foss." "Oh, that! Well, I met him on the trail between Clinker Creek and the American yesterday. He accused me of being untrue to him while he was in jail." "Yes?" "I admitted my guilt. Never having had the slightest inclination to be true to him, I told him, it naturally followed that I was untrue to him--and wasn't it a glorious day? How on earth the boy ever got the idea that he has the right to consider me in the light that he does is beyond me. I don't scold him, and I don't send him packing--nor do I give him the least encouragement. I simply treat him civilly when he approaches me on a commonplace matter, and ignore him when he tries to get funny. And he's probably so dense that all this encourages him. How can he be so stupid! I haven't been superior enough with him--but I hate to be superior, even to a halfbreed. And he's quarter Chinaman. Heavens, what am I coming to!" "How did the meeting end?" queried Oliver. "Well, we both went a little further this time than ever before. He attempted to kiss me, and I attempted to cut his face open with my quirt. Both of us missed by about six inches, I'm thankful to say. And the grand climax took the form of a dire threat against you. By the way, I've never seen you pack a gun, Mr. Drew." He shrugged. "I used to down on the cow ranch in San Bernardino County, but I think I grew up over in France." "You have one, of course." "Yes--a 'forty-five." "Can you handle a gun fairly well?" "I know which end to look into to see if it's loaded." "Can you spin a dollar in air with your left hand, draw, and hit it before it strikes the ground?" "Aw, let's be sensible!" he cried. "I'm after another colony of bees. Come on up and look at 'em."