His plan, however, received an unexpected check. He was told that the horses were engaged by Mr. Barclay for that evening. Frowning and annoyed, he demanded why that should prevent him from having them the next morning, and received the information that Mr. Barclay was to drive into Reno that night with them, sending them back in the morning, when they would be too tired by the twenty-one miles over the grade, to go out again immediately. Black Dan stood in the doorway of the stable looking with attentive eyes at his informant. As the man amplified his explanation with excuses, the bonanza king said nothing. For the moment his own thoughts were too engrossing to permit of words. A puppy that was playing near by in the sunlight trotted toward him and bit playfully at his toe. He turned it over with his foot, following its charmingly awkward gambols with a pondering gaze. “Then I suppose I can’t have Spanish George either?” he said. “Mr. Barclay’ll take him in to drive the horses back, and he’ll take his time about it.” “Oh, you can have Spanish George all right,” said the stable-man, relieved that he could give his powerful patron something he wanted. “Mr. Barclay’s driving some one in with him. He’ll have one of the Reno men bring the horses back.” Black Dan looked up, his broad, dark eyes charged with almost fierce attention. “Who’s he driving in?” he asked. “Don’t know, sir. He didn’t say. All he said was that he couldn’t take a driver, as he had some one with him and he’d send the team back in the morning with a man from Reno.” The other looked down at the puppy, rolling it gently back and forth with his large foot. “When did you say he was going?” he asked. “Six-thirty. His valises have come up already. They’re in the office now.” He pointed backward with his thumb toward the small, partitioned-off box called the office. But Black Dan did not seem particularly interested in the valises. “Well,” he said, taking his foot off the puppy and pushing it carefully aside, “send along the best you have with Spanish George to drive. Be at the International at eleven sharp. I don’t want to start later than that.” He left the stable and walked slowly down the street toward the Cresta Plata. His eyes were downcast, his face set in lines of absorbed thought. Whom was Jerry driving into Reno that night?