"So I will," snapped Starbuck, half morosely. "Two nights ago, when you were telling me about this Miss Rich-acres, you said there was nothing to it, and I said you never could tell, when there was a woman in it. I saw you two when you came out of the Hophra dining-room together last night, and I saw the look in that girl's eyes. Do you know what I said to myself right then, John? I said: 'Oh, you little girl out at the Hillcrest ranch--good-by, you!'" Smith's grin was half antagonistic. "You _are_ an ass, Billy," he asserted. "I never was in love with Verda Richlander, nor she with me." "Speak for yourself and let it hang there, John. You can't speak for the woman--no man ever can. What I'm hoping now is that she doesn't know anything about you that Stanton could make use of." Again the High Line's new secretary turned to stare at the black backgrounded window. "You mean that she might hear of--of Miss Corona?" he suggested. "You've roped it down, at last," said the friendly enemy. "Stanton'll tell her--he'll tell her anything and everything that might make her turn loose any little bit of information she may have about you. As I said a minute ago, I'm hoping she hasn't got anything on you, John." Smith was still facing the window when he replied. "I'm sorry to have to disappoint you, Starbuck. What Miss Richlander could do to me, if she chooses, would be good and plenty." The ex-cowboy mine owner drew a long breath and felt for his tobacco-sack and rice-paper. "All of which opens up more talk trails," he said thoughtfully. "Since you wouldn't try to take care of yourself, and since your neck happens to be the most valuable asset Timanyoni High Line has, just at present, I've been butting in, as I told you. Listen to my tale of woe, if you haven't anything better to do. Besides the Miss Rich-ranches episode there are a couple of others. Want to hear about 'em?" Smith nodded. "All right. A little while past dinner this evening, Stanton had a hurry call to meet the 'Nevada Flyer.' Tailed onto the train there was a private luxury car, and in the private car sat a gentleman whose face you've seen plenty of times in the political cartoons, usually with cuss-words under it. He is one of Stanton's bosses; and Stanton was in for a wigging--and got it. I couldn't hear, but I could see--through the car window. He had Stanton standing on one foot before the train pulled out and let Crawford make his get-away. You guess, and I'll guess, and we'll both say it was about this Escalante snap which is aiming to be known as the Escalante fizzle. Ain't it the truth?" Again Smith nodded, and said: "Go on."