They were touched by Jim’s haggard face. They had not seen the boss for several days; he had been busy with accounts, Bill had told them. They began shuffling their feet as though about to leave. Each one thought perhaps it would be as well to wait until the next day. Shorty signalled them to come on, but Jim stopped them. "Boys, I hear you’re getting anxious about your pay. I don’t blame you. My affairs are in a bad way, but I don’t expect any one to share my bad luck. You’ve earned your money. I’ll see that you get it." As Jim spoke he drew from his pocket several small boxes and from his belt an old wallet. "I have some useless old trinkets here that have been knocking around in my trunk for years. If you will take them to town, where people wear such things, you will get enough for them to wipe out my account and something to boot for long service and good-will." Andy’s sniffles were the only answer that followed. Jim turned to him, "Andy—" But Andy refused the package. "Und say, boss. Und say, I ain’t kickin’. Und say, I can trust you." Jim only tossed the box into his hands. "Shorty," he said, as he slapped the wallet across the little fellow’s shoulder. "Oh, I’d rather not," Shorty shamefacedly answered. "Gee, but this is tough work," he muttered to himself. Jim smiled. "You must take it, please. The man who refuses throws suspicion on the value of my junk. You won’t do that, I’m sure." And the wallet slid into Shorty’s hand. "Grouchy, you can have my repeating rifle," he added. "And now, good-night. I’ll see you to-morrow for the last time." So this was to be the end of their association with the boss. Would he try to shoulder the work of the place without them? A second’s reflection told them that this would be impossible. It was to be really the end of Carston’s ranch. The three men stood staring at Jim. Bill, at the back of the hut, as he heard the words, sank down on a rough bench. This was what had come of the days of silence on Jim’s part; in each man’s heart there was an unspeakable emotion at the dissolution of their companionship. Suddenly down the road they heard the clatter of horses. Then the whoop-la of a crowd of men, and a stentorian voice called: "Hello, any one to home at Carston’s ranch?" Shorty and Andy hurried to meet the new-comers. It was Bud Hardy, the Sheriff, with a posse of men. In they rushed, swarming all over the place, and carrying with them the smell of alkali and the heat of the plains. Dripping with perspiration, stained and worn with their travel, they seemed like part of the desert, so covered were they with a heavy caking of dust. One felt the parched fever of their thirst as they stood asking hospitality of the ranch. Jim advanced to meet them. "Hello, folks," Bud called, as the men of the ranch welcomed his men. Then he came towards Jim, who shook hands with him. "Why, how are you, Sheriff?"