hile and talk
this over."

"Unfortunately I have an engagement," retorted the other icily.

"When?"

"I really think, Mr. Lindsay, that is my business."

"I'm makin' it mine," said Clay curtly.

Bromfield stared. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said it was mine too. You see I bought a coupla shares of Bird Cage
stock yesterday. I'd hate to see Whitford ousted from control. I've
got confidence in him."

"It's your privilege to vote that stock this afternoon. At least it
would be if it had been transferred to you on the books. I'll vote my
stock according to my own views."

"I wonder," murmured Clay aloud.

"What's that?" snapped Bromfield.

"I was just figurin' on what would happen if you got sick and couldn't
attend that annual meeting this afternoon," drawled the Westerner. "I
reckon mebbe some of the stockholders you've got lined up would break
away and join Whitford."

The New Yorker felt a vague alarm. What idea did this fellow have in
the back of his head. Did he intend to do bodily violence to him?
Without any delay Bromfield reached for the telephone.

The large brown hand of the Westerner closed over his.

"I'm talkin' to you, Mr. Bromfield. It's not polite for you to start
'phoning, not even to the police, whilst we're still engaged in
conversation."

"Don't you try to interfere with me," said the man who paid the
telephone bill. "I'll not submit to such an indignity."

"I'm not the only one that interferes. You fixed up quite an
entertainment for me the other night, didn't you? Wouldn't you kinda
call that interferin' some? I sure ought to comb yore hair for it."

Bromfield made a hasty decision to get out. He started for the door.
Clay traveled in that direction too. They arrived simultaneously.
Clarendon backed away. The Arizonan locked the door and pocketed the
key.

His host grew weakly violent. From Whitford he had heard a story about
two men in a locked room that did not reassure him now. One of the men
had been this cattleman. The other--well, he had suffered. "Let me
out! I'll not stand this! You can't bully me!" he cried shrilly.

"Don't pull yore picket-pin, Bromfield," advised Lindsay. "I've
elected myself boss of the _rodeo_. What I say goes. You'll save
yorese'f a heap of worry if you make up yore mind to that right away."

"What do you want? What are you trying to do? I'm not a barroom
brawler like Durand. I don't intend to fight with you."

"You'v