rossed over to the fire and stood near Thorn, who was slouching
low in his chair, his long legs stretched straight, his heels crossed
before the low ashy fire that smoldered in the chimney. For a little
while Chadron stood looking down on his hired scourge, a knitting of
displeasure in his face, as if he waited for him to break the silence.
Thorn continued his dark reverie undisturbed, it seemed, his pipestem
between his fingers.

"Yes, it was his damn hired hand!" said Chadron, with profound
disgust.

"That's what I heard you say," acknowledged Thorn, not moving his
head.

"You knew it all the time; you was tryin' to work me for the money, so
you could light out!"

"I didn't even know he had a hired hand!" Thorn drew in his legs,
straightened his back, and came with considerable spirit to the
defense of his evil intent.

"Well, he ain't got none now, but _he's_ alive and kickin'. You've
bungled on this job worse than an old woman. I didn't fetch you in
here to clean out hired hands and kids; we can shake a blanket and
scare that kind out of the country!"

"Well, put him in at fifty then, if he was only a hired hand," said
Thorn, willing to oblige.

"When you go ahead and do what you agreed to, then we'll talk money,
and not a red till then."

Thorn got up, unlimbering slowly, and laid the pipe on the mantel-shelf.
He seemed unmoved, indifferent; apathetic as a toothless old lion.
After a little silence he shook his head.

"I'm done, I tell you," he said querulously, as if raising the
question crossed him. "Pay me for that many, and call it square."

"Bring in Macdonald," Chadron demanded in firm tones.

"I ain't a-goin' to touch him! If I keep on after that man he'll git
_me_--it's on the cards, I can see it in the dark."

"Yes, you're lost your nerve, you old wildcat!" There was a taunt in
Chadron's voice, a sneer.

Thorn turned on him, a savage, smothered noise in his throat.

"You can say that because you owe me money, but you know it's a damn
lie! If you didn't owe me money, I'd make you swaller it with hot
lead!"

"You're talkin' a little too free for a man of your trade, Mark."
While Chadron's tone was tolerant, even friendly, there was an
undercurrent of warning, even threat, in his words.

"You're the feller that's lettin' his gab outrun his gumption. How
many does that make for me, talkin' about nerve, how many? Do you
know?"

"I don't care how many, it lacks one of bein' enough to suit