e triggers. King expected the discharge each second.

Brodie whirled and drew back, his face turning grey.

"Put it down, you old fool; put it down!" he cried raspingly. "I'll go."

The old man cackled in his delight.

"I'll put nothin' down," he announced triumphantly. "You set down that
box."

Hastily Brodie put it on the table. He drew further away, backing toward
the front door.

"Git!" cried old Honeycutt.

They could hear the air rushing back into Brodie's lungs as he came to
the door and his fear left him.

"I'll be back, Honeycutt, don't you fear," he growled savagely. "As for
you, King, you and me ain't done. I'll get you where there's no old fool
to butt in, and I'll break every bone in your body."

"I'll be ready, Brodie," said King. He watched the great hulking figure
as it went out; two hundred and fifty pounds of brawn there, every ounce
of it packed with power and the cunning of brutish battle. If he ever
fought Swen Brodie, just man to man, with only the weapons nature gave
them, what would the end be?

But Brodie was gone, his shadow withdrawn from the doorstep, and he had
his business with Honeycutt. He left the door wide open so that no one
might come suddenly upon them and turned to the old man.

"Put your gun down, Honeycutt," he said quietly. "I want to talk with
you."

"I got the big stiff on the run!" mumbled the old man. "He cain't come
an' bulldoze me. Not me, he cain't. No, nor if Swen Brodie cain't git
the best of me, no other man can," he added meaningly, glaring at King.

"There's that box on the table," said King. "Maybe you'll want to put it
away before he makes you another visit."

Honeycutt hastily set his gun down, leaning it against the wall with
both hammers still back, and shambled to the table. He caught the box up
and hugged it to his thin old breast, breathing hard.

"If there's money in it----" said King, knowing well that the old miser
had money secreted somewhere.

"Who said there was money? Who said so?"

He went to his tumbled bunk in a corner, sat down on it, thrusting the
box out of sight under the untidy heap of dirty bedding.

"I ain't talkin'," he said. He glanced at his gun. "You _git_, too."

King felt that he could not have selected a more inopportune moment for
his visit, and already began to fear that he would have no success
to-day. But it began to look as though it were a question of now or
never; Brodie would return despite the shotgun, an