y over his own cigarette building. "Say,
for a man that's supposed to be soused," he began, after a silence, "you
act and talk remarkably lucid. I wish I could carry booze like that," he
added regretfully. "But I can't; my tongue and my legs always betray
the guilty secret. Have you got any particular system, or is it just a
gift?"

"No"--Ford shook his head--"nothing like that. I just don't happen to be
drunk." He eyed Jim sharply while he considered within himself. "It
looks to me," he began, after a moment, "as if our friend Dick had
framed up a nice little plant. One way and another I got wise to the
whole thing; but for the life of me, I can't see what made him do it.
Lordy me! I never kicked him on any bunion!" He grinned, as memory
flashed a brief, mental picture of Sunset and certain incidents which
occurred there. But memory never lets well enough alone, and one is
lucky to escape without seeing a picture that leaves a sting; Ford's
smile ended in a scowl.

"Jealousy, old man," Jim pronounced without hesitation. "Of course, I
don't know the details, but--details be darned. If he has tried to hand
you a package, take it from me, jealousy's the string he tied it with. I
don't mind saying that Dick told me when I first rode up to the corral
that you and Mose were both boozing up to beat the band; and right after
that we heard a deuce of a racket up here, and it did look--" He waved
an apologetic hand at Mose and the fragments of pottery which framed
like a "still life" picture on the floor, and let it go at that. "I'm
strong for you, Ford," he added, and his smile was frank and friendly.
"Double Cross is the name of this outfit, but I'm all in favor of
running that brand on the cow-critters and keeping it out of the
bunk-house. If you should happen to feel like elucidating--" he hinted
delicately.

Ford had always liked Jim Felton; now he warmed to him as a real friend,
and certain things he told him. As much about the jug with the brown
neck and handle as concerned Dick, and all he knew of the bottles in the
haystack, while Jim smoked, and swung the foot which did not rest upon
the floor, and listened.

"Sounds like Dick, all right," he passed judgment, when Ford had
finished. "He counted on your falling for the jug--and oh, my! It was a
beautiful plant. I'd sure hate to have anybody sing 'Yield not to
temptation' at me, if a gallon jug of the real stuff fell into my arms
and nobody was looking." He eyed For