“See here, Laramie,” went on Duane, “in some parts of Texas it's policy to be close-mouthed. Policy and health-preserving! Between ourselves, I want you to know I lean on your side of the fence.” Laramie gave a quick start. Presently Duane turned and frankly met his gaze. He had startled Laramie out of his habitual set taciturnity; but even as he looked the light that might have been amaze and joy faded out of his face, leaving it the same old mask. Still Duane had seen enough. Like a bloodhound he had a scent. “Talking about work, Laramie, who'd you say Snecker worked for?” “I didn't say.” “Well, say so now, can't you? Laramie, you're powerful peevish to-day. It's that bump on your head. Who does Snecker work for?” “When he works at all, which sure ain't often, he rides for Longstreth.” “Humph! Seems to me that Longstreth's the whole circus round Fairdale. I was some sore the other day to find I was losing good money at Longstreth's faro game. Sure if I'd won I wouldn't have been sore--ha, ha! But I was surprised to hear some one say Longstreth owned the Hope So joint.” “He owns considerable property hereabouts,” replied Laramie, constrainedly. “Humph again! Laramie, like every other fellow I meet in this town, you're afraid to open your trap about Longstreth. Get me straight, Laramie. I don't care a damn for Colonel Mayor Longstreth. And for cause I'd throw a gun on him just as quick as on any rustler in Pecos.” “Talk's cheap,” replied Laramie, making light of his bluster, but the red was deeper in his face. “Sure. I know that,” Duane said. “And usually I don't talk. Then it's not well known that Longstreth owns the Hope So?” “Reckon it's known in Pecos, all right. But Longstreth's name isn't connected with the Hope So. Blandy runs the place.” “That Blandy. His faro game's crooked, or I'm a locoed bronch. Not that we don't have lots of crooked faro-dealers. A fellow can stand for them. But Blandy's mean, back-handed, never looks you in the eyes. That Hope So place ought to be run by a good fellow like you, Laramie.” “Thanks,” replied he; and Duane imagined his voice a little husky. “Didn't you hear I used to run it?” “No. Did you?” Duane said, quickly. “I reckon. I built the place, made additions twice, owned it for eleven years.” “Well, I'll be doggoned.” It was indeed Duane's turn to be surprised, and with the surprise came a glimmering. “I'm sorry you're not there now. Did you sell out?” “No. Just lost the place.” Laramie was bursting for relief now--to talk, to tell. Sympathy had made him soft. “It was two years ago-two years last March,” he went on. “I was in a big cattle deal with Longstreth. We got the stock--an' my share, eighteen hundred head, was rustled off. I owed Longstreth. He pressed me. It come to a lawsuit--an' I--was ruined.”