“It’s not a bad-_looking_ place,” he commented with some reluctance. “Maybe Pat didn’t pull such a boner after all.” He climbed out of the car and walked toward the tiny stream. “Golly grandma, what’s that! Chickens?” “It shore enough is--but I kinda thought the coyotes and link-cats would of got all Waddy’s chickens. He’s been gone a week away.” “Good heck! I thought chickens liked to partake of a little nourishment occasionally. All the kinds I’ve met do.” Monty laughed lazily. “Oh, Waddell he fixed a kind of feed box for ’em that lets down a few grains at a time. I reckon he filled it up before he went.” Monty sent seeking glances into the undergrowth along the creek. “There ought to be a couple of shoats around here, too. And a cat.” Gary went into the cabin and stood looking around him curiously. Some attempt had been made to furnish the place with a few comforts, but the attempt had evidently perished of inanition. Flowered calico would have hidden the cubboard decently, had the curtains been clean. A box tacked against the wall held magazines and a book or two. The bunk was draped around the edge with the same flowered calico, with an old shoe protruding from beneath. One square window with a single sash looked down upon the little creek. Its twin looked down the cañon. Cast-off garments hung against the wall at the foot of the bunk. “Great interior set for a poverty scene,” Gary decided, rolling himself a smoke. “I don’t intend to stay out on this location, you know. I’m here to sell the damned place. What’s the quickest way to do that--quietly? I mean, without advertising it.” Monty Girard turned slowly and stared. “There ain’t no quick way,” he said finally. “Waddy, he’s been tryin’ for three months to sell it--advertisin’ in all the papers. He was in about as much of a hurry as a man could get in--and he was just about at the point where he was goin’ to walk off and leave it, when this Mr. Connolly bit.” “Bit?” “Bought. Yuh-all must have misunderstood.” “Either way, I don’t feature it.” Gary lighted the cigarette thoughtfully. “It looks a pretty fair place--for a hermit, or a man that’s hiding out. What did this man Waddell buy it for? And how long ago?” “I reckon he thought he wanted it. A couple of years ago, I reckon he aimed to settle down here.” “Well, why the heck didn’t he do it then?” Gary sat down on the edge of the table and folded his arms. “Spread ’em out on the table, Monty. I won’t shoot.” “You say yuh-all don’t aim to stay here?” Monty leveled a glance at him. “Not any longer than it takes to sell out. You look like a live wire. I’m going to appoint you my agent and see if you can’t rustle a buyer--_quick_. I’ll go back with you, when you go. That will be in a couple of days, you said. So tell me the joke, Monty. I asked you in town, yesterday, and you didn’t do it.”