Gallup strode straight back to Mexicali Joe, clamping a ponderous hand upon the shoulder which sought futilely to jerk free. "Spit it out, Joe," he ordered. "Where'd that come from?" "You let me go! I ain't workin' for you. You ain't my boss. What I got, she's mine! Now I goin' home." Gallup, still holding him with one hand, probed at him with his eyes, seeking to fathom what powers of determination and stubbornness lay within a mongrel soul. Joe looked frightened; there were beads of sweat on his forehead, stealing downward from under his black matted hair. But there was in his look the glint of desperate defiance.... Gallup called softly: "Hey, Ricky; come here." His combination cook and chore man returned through the inner door with an alacrity which must have told his employer that he had never stirred a step from the threshold. He, like the others, was on fire with suddenly stimulated greed. "Go get Taggart," said Gallup, his eye all the time on Joe. "Slip out the back way and go quiet. He's down at his cabin. I want him here in a hurry." Ricky, though with obvious reluctance, withdrew. Once out of sight, however, he ran as fast as he could, anxious to be back with no loss of time. "Taggart?" muttered Joe. "What for? For why you send for him?" "Why does a man generally send for him?" countered Gallup dryly. "Know who he is, don't you, Joe?" "Sure, I know! But I ain't done nothin'. I ain't no t'ief. This is mine." "Thief?" Gallup having repeated the word thoughtfully, said it a second time: "_Thief!_ I hadn't thought of that." "Let me go," cried Joe. With a sudden fierce jerk he broke free and started to the door. But Gallup, shaking his head, was at his side like a flash. He thrust the Mexican aside and stood with his heavy square shoulders against the oak panel. Joe, by now trembling with fury, slipped a hand into his shirt. But before the hastening fingers could close about the sheath-knife which Gallup knew well enough they sought, Gallup drew back a heavy fist and struck the Mexican full in the face. Joe went staggering across the room and fell, his battered lips writhing back from his teeth. Again his hand went into his shirt. Gallup ran across the room and stood over him, one heavy boot drawn back threateningly. "Make one more move like that," he said coolly, "and I'll smash my boot heel in your dirty mouth."