“The best you could! You did that—though not in the way you would have me believe.” Barreau’s voice stung like a whip-lash. “You double-faced Mammon-worshipper, if it would mend matters I would gladly jerk you out of your bunk and stamp your swinish features into the earth. Do you think you can pull the wool over my eyes? For two pins I’d break with you right now.” Montell did not at once reply. He sat a few seconds, softly rubbing the palm of one pudgy hand over the back of its fellow. “Now, what’s the use of that sort of talk, George?” he finally said, quite unperturbed. “We can’t afford to quarrel. We got too——” “I can,” Barreau interrupted. “No, no, George, you’re mistaken there. We got to stick together,” he declared. “Hang it! you had bad luck. But you shouldn’t blame me for them misfortunes.” “I don’t—altogether,” Barreau cut in again. “But you took advantage of my mischance, to help along a little scheme that you’ve been nursing some time. I had a glimpse of your hand in MacLeod. You have done the mischief. Why should I trouble myself further in your affairs, unless it be to call you to account for the dirty trick you have played?” “Oho, I see now,” Montell nodded understandingly. “I didn’t catch what you were driving at. But you’re wrong, dead wrong, George. Why, I tried every way to send Jessie back from Benton. Yes, sir, tried every way. You’ve no idea how wilful that girl is.” He spread his fat hands deprecatingly. “She’d come to MacLeod, spite of hell ’n’ high water. _I_ couldn’t stop her. And with every Tom, Dick ’n’ Harry talkin’ about you, and them dodgers stuck up every place, and you really in the guardhouse—why, you see how it was. No way to keep it dark. But it’s not as bad as you think. Of course she’s kinda excited—but, pshaw! When you see her again she won’t think of it. You’re dead wrong, George, when you blame me. Yes, sir. Wouldn’t I have kept it quiet if I could? You know it, George. I got somethin’ at stake, too.” “You have that,” Barreau returned grimly, “and you had better keep that fact in mind. But don’t ask me to believe such rot as your not being able to prevent her from making such a radical change of plan. However, the milk is spilt; the crying part will come later. I’ll keep to my part of the bargain. Does everything stand as originally laid out?” Montell nodded. “There’s no call to change,” he said, and again the purring, satisfied note crept into his voice. “I want another good horse, a saddle, a pack layout, and grub for a month,” Barreau enumerated. “Rout Steve up—you know where he sleeps—and have him get those things. We need guns, too. Where is my box?” “It’s on the tail end of the first wagon outside. Steve’s sleepin’ just beyond. Couldn’t you just as well wake him, George?”