“You're right, I quit him. No more Smiley for me.” “What's the trouble?” “What _ain't_ the trouble, you'd better say. But I ain't tellin'. Smiley's done me dirt, an' I know 'im for just what he is, but I ain't tellin'.” They were passing another saloon, and Roche accepted an invitation to step in. “I've seen Smiley a good deal around the piers,” said the young fellow, when they were seated. “Likes to swagger some, doesn't he?” “Oh, he's no good.” “Mean to work for? Those conceited fellows generally are.” “He's mean, yes. But that ain't the worst thing about him.” Roche paused guardedly, and glanced around the empty room. “I don't know much about him myself, just seen him now and then. But of course I've heard things. “I 'll tell you right here, you arn't the only one that 'll be hearin' things before much longer.” Another cautious glance around. “You don't happen to know anythin' about law, do you?” “I've studied it some.” “Well, look here. I know some things about Dick Smiley, and if it was worth my while, I'd tell 'em. But you see, I am an honest man, an' I've got my livin' to make, an' he's just cute enough to lie about me an' try to drag me down with 'im. Folks might say I didn't quit him the first minute I found 'im out. I can't run no risks, you see.” “I can tell you this much--but, of course, it's none of my business.” “Go on.” “Well, it depends on the case. But if he has done anything serious, and if the authorities find it hard to get evidence against him, you probably wouldn't have any trouble, even if you were right in with him. A man can turn state's evidence, you know.” “But I wasn't in with 'im. When I'd found him out, I quit him--the first good chance I got.” “Yes, of course. But it all depends. I couldn't tell you anything more, because I don't know the case. It all depends on how bad they want him.” “They want him bad enough.” He dropped his voice, and leaned across the table. “Did you ever hear o' Whiskey Jim?” “You don't mean to say--” Roche nodded. “Why, man, you're rich.” “How do you make that out?” “Haven't you seen the papers?” Roche shook his head. “There's a reward of five thousand up for Whiskey Jim.” “Who 'll give it?” “The Consolidated Dealers. You see, there has been a counterfeit label, of the Red Seal brand, on the market; and I understand the liquor men have been running it down and putting the Treasury Agents on the track to protect their business.” “Fi' thousand, eh? An' do you think we could make it?” “If you have the evidence to convict this Whiskey Jim, we can. But now, before we go into this, what sort of an arrangement will you make with me if I steer it through for you?” “What would you want?” “Well--I should go at it something like this. I should go to the United States Treasury officials and tell them I could get them the evidence they want if they would agree not to prosecute us. It would take some managing, but it can be done. But I can't do it for nothing.”