The schemer’s voice was more friendly now, for he felt he was in the man’s power, and it would be better to temporize with him than to threaten him, though in his heart he wished he could strike him dead at his feet. “Well, squire, I don’t know as I object to telling you that that woman has been prowling around here, too, for several days. I’ve sort o’ had my eyes on her, and I thought I’d find out what she was up to. As to its being no concern of mine, perhaps ’tis, and then again perhaps it isn’t. Anyway, I rather think she’s got a little the best of you, hain’t she, squire!—that is,” he added slyly, “unless you can get hold o’ them pictures. Handsome man, that! Seems to me I’ve seen him somewhere before now.” “The duse take it!” muttered the squire, uneasily. “I would give a good deal if I had them in my possession.” “Would you, really?” asked the other, a sudden idea seeming to strike him. “Well, what would you give a feller to get them for you?” “Ah!” said Squire Moulton, starting, and eying his strange companion closely. “I would give a hundred dollars—fifty on the spot, and fifty more when they are in my possession.” “By golly, I’m your man, then! Fork over, and call it a job!” The strange man sprang eagerly to his feet, evidently anxious to have his services engaged. “But,” returned the other, hesitating, “I don’t know anything about you. How do I know but you will make off with the money I give you, and never show yourself again? What is your name?” “Well, I am a stranger in these parts, so I guess you won’t be able to find out much about me, except what I choose to tell you myself. I go by the name of Ronald Edgerton—a pretty good sounding one, I think, too. And as to my making off with your money, you’ll have to take me on trust, I guess, as I’ve nobody to back me.” “Where did you come from?” asked the squire, wishing he could strike the man, for his cool insolence exasperated him beyond measure. “Well, I came from the city out here; but I hail from California.” “California!” repeated the squire, with a gasp. “What part of the State?” “The diggins! Mighty poor diggins they were, too, for me, so I thought I’d better dig for somewhere else. But what do you say, squire—is it a trade that I go for the pictures?” “I don’t know,” muttered the perplexed man, less and less inclined to trust the stranger. “Better,” replied Ronald Edgerton, laconically. “Why?” demanded Squire Moulton, sharply. “Well”—continuing to use what seemed to be a favorite word with him—“well, I’ve gained some pretty valuable information to-day, you know, and if I can’t make a trade with you, why, I shall be under the necessity of doing so with some one else!” “Oh! you threaten me, do you?” “Not at all, squire—not at all; only a feller must get a living some way or other.” “What do you do generally for a living?” “Well, most anything that turns up; sometimes this and sometimes that.”