All the rooms fronted on the road with doors--the old-time agency doors, where the hostiles had drawn their pictures in the days before peace had come to reign over this country. Drake looked out, because the singing had stopped and they were very quiet in the bunk-house. He saw the Chinaman steal from his kitchen. “Sam is tired of us,” he said to Bolles. “Tired?” “Running away, I guess. I'd prefer a new situation myself. That's where you're deficient, Bolles. Only got sense enough to stay where you happen to be. Hello. What is he up to?” Sam had gone beside a window of the bunkhouse and was listening there, flat like a shadow. Suddenly he crouched, and was gone among the sheds. Out of the bunk-house immediately came a procession, the buccaroos still quiet, a careful, gradual body. Drake closed his door and sat in the chair again. “They're escorting that jug over here,” said he. “A new move, and a big one.” He and Bolles heard them enter the next room, always without much noise or talk--the loudest sound was the jug when they set it on the floor. Then they seemed to sit, talking little. “Bolles,” said Drake, “the sun has set. If you want to take after Sam--” But the door of the sitting-room opened and the Chinaman himself came in. He left the door a-swing and spoke clearly. “Misser Dlake,” said he, “slove bloke” (stove broke). The superintendent came out of his office, following Sam to the kitchen. He gave no look or word to the buccaroos with their demijohn; he merely held his cigar sidewise in his teeth and walked with no hurry through the sitting-room. Sam took him through to the kitchen and round to a hind corner of the stove, pointing. “Misser Dlake,” said he, “slove no bloke. I hear them inside. They going kill you.” “That's about the way I was figuring it,” mused Dean Drake. “Misser Dlake,” said the Chinaman, with appealing eyes, “I velly solly you. They no hurtee me. Me cook.” “Sam, there is much meat in your words. Condensed beef don't class with you. But reserve your sorrows yet a while. Now what's my policy?” he debated, tapping the stove here and there for appearances; somebody might look in. “Shall I go back to my office and get my guns?” “You not goin' run now?” said the Chinaman, anxiously. “Oh yes, Sam. But I like my gun travelling. Keeps me kind of warm. Now if they should get a sight of me arming--no, she's got to stay here till I come back for her. So long, Sam! See you later. And I'll have time to thank you then.” Drake went to the corral in a strolling manner. There he roped the strongest of the horses, and also the school-master's. In the midst of his saddling, Bolles came down. “Can I help you in any way?” said Bolles. “You've done it. Saved me a bothering touch-and-go play to get you out here and seem innocent. I'm going to drift.” “Drift?” “There are times to stay and times to leave, Bolles; and this is a case of the latter. Have you a real gun on now?”