e hair is short, and he's got to come my
way!"

His eyes were glittering restlessly, and the pupils seemed to be unduly
dilated. The whiskey and opium together--probably an unaccustomed
combination--were too much for his ill-balanced control. Every
indication of his face and his narrow eyes was for secrecy and craft;
yet for the moment he was opening up to me, a stranger, like an oyster.
Even my inexperience could see that much, and I eagerly took advantage
of my chance.

"You are a horseman, then?" I suggested.

"Me a horseman? Say, kid, you didn't get my name. Brower--Artie Brower.
Why, I've ridden more winning races than any other man on the Pacific
Coast. That's how I got onto old H.H. I rode for him. He knows a good
horse all right--the old skunk. Used to have a pretty string."

"He's got at least one good Morgan stallion now," said I. "I've seen him
at Hooper's ranch."

"I know the old crock--trotter," scorned the true riding jockey.
"Probably old Tim Westmore is hanging around, too. He's in love with
that horse."

"Is he in love with Hooper, too?" I asked.

"Just like I am," said the jockey with a leer.

"So you're going to be rich," said I. "How's that?"

He leered at me again, going foxy.

"Don't you wish you knew! But I'll tell you this: old H.H. is going to
give me all I want--just because I ask him to."

I took another tack, affecting incredulity.

"The hell he is! He'll hand you over to Ramon and that will be the last
of a certain jockey."

"No, he won't do no such trick. I've fixed that; and he knows it. If he
kills me, he'll lose _all_ he's got 'stead of only part."

"You're drunk or dreaming," said I. "If you bother him, he'll just plain
have you killed. That's a little way of his."

"And if he does a friend of mine will just go to a certain place and get
certain papers and give 'em to a certain lawyer--and then where's old
H.H.? And he knows it, damn well. And he's going to be good to Artie and
give him what he wants. We'll get along fine. Took him a long time to
come to it; but I didn't take no chances while he was making up his
mind; you can bet on that."

"Blackmail, eh?" I said, with just enough of a sneer to fire him.

"Blackmail nothing!" he shouted. "It ain't blackmail to take away what
don't belong to a man at all!"

"What don't belong to him?"

"Nothing. Not a damn thing except his money. This ranch. The oil wells
in California. The cattle. Not a damn thing. That was th