"Mebby I am a little too touchy. We all have our faults. He was headin' th' same as us because we're on his trail, right now. I sort of follered it here to keep my hand in. You never can tell when yo're goin' to need th' practice. Our fire is built on th' ashes of hisn. His fire an' smoke was well hid, too. What a two-gun cow-puncher, with a Tin Cup cayuse like that, wants to go hoofin' off on a fool's errand for, is more than I can figger out. But two heads are better than one; an' a man hears an awful lot of talkin' up in Old Pop Hayes' place. Queer old polecat, Pop is." Ackerman stared thoughtfully into the fire for a few moments. Then he looked squarely and long into Pete's placid, unwavering eyes, and what he saw there must have pleased and piqued him. "Pete, yore habit of usin' words reminds me of a gravel bed I once panned. It was a big bed an' I panned a terrible lot of gravel; but you'd 'a' been surprised if you knew how much gold there was in it. I was a rich man until I hit town." He waved his hands expressively. "You've said a whole lot, but it pans out strong. Anybody that won't listen to you is a fool. Let's have a pow-wow, without hurtin' any feelin's. Speak plain; keep cool. What you say?" Pete waited until he rolled another cigarette and drew in another lungful of smoke. Then he recrossed his long legs, hitched comfortably against his saddle, and nodded. "Meanin' to swap ideas an' personal opinions, ask questions regardless, an' if things don't come out like we'd mebby like 'em, keep our mouths shut afterwards an' not hold no hard feelin's?" "Just that," Ackerman acquiesced. "Just what was you aimin' at in yore talk?" Pete scrutinized the fire. "Well, I hit what I was aimin' at--you allus do with a scatter gun. An' for th' ease of my conscience, an' th' rest of my calloused soul, let me confess that I had a gun on you while I was talkin' to you. One arm was folded across behind my back an' a little old Colt was squeezin' against my side an' th' other arm, lookin' right at you. Carelessness ain't no sin of mine; I got enough without it. But, shakin' some of th' gravel out, let's see what I got. "I wants a job. It's funny how many times I've wanted a job, an' then threw it sprawlin' after I got it. Bein' desperate, I was aimin' to stick you up an' take your outfit. Then when you got near an' I saw who it was, I knowed I'd have to shoot to kill; an' first, too. That's why I didn't tackle that other feller, too. An' just then my perverted mind says two an' two is four. An' it most generally is. Then I knowed you needed me. So I let th' gun slip an' got real friendly. But, as I was sayin', I want a job. Now you pay attention.