“I couldn’t say any offhand,” he confessed. “You see I just put it up to him and was intending to work out the details later on. There, now!” he complained, as she laughed at this lack of definiteness. “You’re doubting my stability again. There’s numerous ways open for me to follow.” He checked them off on his fingers. “I might get appointed marshal in Freel’s place and there’s any number of folks would contribute to my success. I could assist Crowfoot to fill his beef contracts; or I could get the job of hide inspector and Crowfoot would then assist me.” Beneath this facetious recitation of possibilities she read in his reference to Crowfoot a deliberate intention to apprise her of the fact that the man’s methods were open to question, leaving her to devise her own means of utilizing the knowledge in so far as it related to Bart’s employment by Crowfoot. “The boys are all leaving for the X I L in a few days now,” she returned. “This man Bronson that owns the X I L--he’s someway related to Crowfoot,” said Carver. “Seems like I’ve heard he was. Anyway, there’s some connection. I spoke for a job for Bart with the Half Diamond H wagon and was hoping he’d take it on.” When Carver rose to leave he rested his hands on her shoulders as she stood facing him. “The round-up will cut into our conferences but I’m looking forward to resuming them after it’s over.” She stepped back and shook her head as he leaned toward her. “Don’t forget how much I’m like Bart,” he urged. “And you know you’d do that much for him. You might try it on me once, just for similarity’s sake.” The girl faced him gravely. “I’m going to absolve you from that promise,” she said. “Try and forget all about the Lassiters. We bring bad luck.” “It’s too late to start forgetting; and besides, I cut my first baby teeth on a horseshoe,” he returned; “and from that day on down to date I’ve been the greatest sort of a hand to counteract bad luck. It positively refuses to settle in my neighborhood. I’ll tell you all about it, Honey, as soon as the round-up’s over.” She stood and watched him ride off up the country, returning his salutation when he turned in his saddle and waved to her as he reached the rim of the pocket. He spent the night at a line camp and the next day made a long ride into Caldwell, dismounting before his little cabin in the early evening. A blanketed figure prowled uneasily at the far side of the street as Carver unsaddled, then crossed over and padded silently along the path that led to the house. “Me like whiskey,” the Indian stated. “Yes,” said Carver. “So do I. But they do say it’s a sinful appetite.” The red man pondered this. “Me buy whiskey,” he amended, exhibiting a gold piece. “I’m just out,” said Carver. “Try next door.” The Indian departed, only to be replaced some few minutes later by a second applicant. Carver recalled the incident of the two black bottles on that other day when he had first met Bart Lassiter in the Silver Dollar.