Rounded, big hipped, small ankles and small feet, she moved with the grace of a tigress. Like the girl in Service’s poem--“She knew by heart, from finish to start, the Book of Iniquity.” Zero Brant scowled. He didn’t like to have Conchita in the Silver Dollar in the daytime. She was his roulette attraction, and she drew a lot of players. She didn’t look so good in daylight. Men stared at her as she came up to Brant and took the glass out of his hand. Neither of them spoke. She faced the crowd and sipped from his glass. “I have some information from El Chuchilla,” she said quietly. “What?” breathed Zero Brant. “A man named Streak Malone came today. They say he has the nerve of the devil. They are having a meeting tonight at Buskirk’s house and they are going to try and appoint Malone the marshal of Silver Butte.” “What else did El Chuchilla hear?” asked Brant. Conchita toyed with her glass, a smile on her painted lips. “They say,” she replied, “that Streak Malone will have fifty men behind him--fifty guns.” “I’m bossin’ Silver Butte,” replied Brant coldly. “Fifty or five hundred--who cares? I’ll handle this job.” “What about the Eureka?” asked Conchita. “They’re moving in the mahogany today.” “Stay out of this,” growled Zero. “This is a man’s job.” “They tell me that Streak Malone is a man,” she said, as she placed the empty glass on the bar, and walked away, her head high. Zero Brant scowled. Conchita was his woman, but she was no slave. She would drop him in a minute, if the going got too tough, and he knew it. So they were going to appoint a marshal for Silver Butte, were they? Zero spat out the frayed cigar. All right! Silver Butte would find out that Zero Brant was still the boss. He found the little Mexican Monte dealer, El Chuchilla, the Knife, and drew him aside. The Knife was a featherweight in size, but notorious for his ability in throwing a blade. He was also Zero Brant’s spy. Brant said: “Listen, you! Be at that meetin’ tonight.” “_Por Dios_--no!” gasped the Mexican. “There’s goin’ to be a crowd,” said Brant. “You can get in. I want information of what happens.” “No,” replied the Mexican stubbornly. “Scared?” queried Brant sarcastically. “_Si._ My friend, I know those Strick Malone, and he know me.” “Yea-a-ah? That’s better. Where did you know him?” “Medora. I am seek for broken bone t’ree month. I have leetle tro’ble een saloon. Those Malone don’t tak’ joke. He t’row me twenty feet t’rough a weendow.” Zero Brant grinned. “I’ll send somebody else. You keep away from Streak Malone. I need yuh.” II