ll need to do good an' hard, an'--without
argument."

Sandy nodded.

"I'm in," he cried, as though a great privilege had been bestowed upon
him.

And at once Toby became anxious.

"Guess you ain't no use for me, Bill?" he hazarded, almost diffidently.

Bill turned his steely eyes on him in cold contemplation. Minky had
joined in Sunny's grin at the other men's expense. Sandy, too, now
that he was accepted as an active member of the trust, was indulging
in a superior smile.

"I don't allow I have," Bill said slowly. "Y'see, you ain't much else
than a 'remittance' man, an' they ain't no sort o' trash anyway."

"But," protested Toby, "I can't help it if my folks hand me money?"

"Mebbe you can't." Bill was actually smiling. And this fact so far
influenced the other members of the trust that an audible titter went
round the room. Then the gambler suddenly sat forward, and the old
fierce gleam shone once more in his cold eyes. "Say," he cried
suddenly. "If a feller got the 'drop' on you with six bar'ls of a gun
well-loaded, an'--guessed you'd best squeal, wot 'ud you do?"

"Squeal," responded the puzzled Toby, with alacrity.

"You ken join the Trust. You sure got more savvee than I tho't."

Bill sat back grinning, while a roar of laughter concluded the
founding of the Zip Trust.

But like all ceremonials, the matter had to be prolonged and
surrounded with the frills of officialdom. Sunny called it organization,
and herein only copied people of greater degree and self-importance.
He plunged into his task with whole-hearted enthusiasm, and, with
every word he uttered, preened himself in the belief that he was
rapidly ascending in the opinion of Wild Bill, the only man on
Suffering Creek for whose opinion he cared a jot.

He explained to his comrades, with all the vanity of a man whose
inspiration has met with public approval, that in forming such a
combine as theirs, it would be necessary to allot certain work, which
he called "departments," to certain individuals. He assured his
fellow-members that such was always done in "way-up concerns." It
saved confusion, and ensured the work being adequately performed.

"Sort o' like a noo elected gover'ment," suggested Sandy sapiently.

"Wal, I won't say that," said Sunny. "Them fellers traipse around wi'
portyfolios hangin' to 'em. I don't guess we need them things. It's
too hot doin' stunts like that."

"Portfolios?" questioned Toby artlessly. "Wot's them for?"