woman,
ain't it? How's a man to tell about 'em?"

"That's a secret of my own that I am not ready to let you in on. Don't
tell your wife where you are going _tonight_."

"I ain't reckonin' to. I'll be with you in a jiffy!" He vanished into the
cabin, reappeared, ran to the stable, and rode out to meet Trevison.
Together they were swallowed up by the plains.

At eight o'clock in the morning Corrigan came out of the dining-room of
his hotel and stopped at the cigar counter. He filled his case, lit one,
and stood for a moment with an elbow on the glass of the show case,
smoking thoughtfully.

"That was quite an accident you had at your mine. Have you any idea who
did it?" asked the clerk, watching him furtively.

Corrigan glanced at the man, his lips curling.

"You might guess," he said through his teeth.

"That fellow Trevison is a bad actor," continued the clerk. "And say," he
went on, confidentially; "not that I want to make you feel bad, but the
majority of the people of this town are standing with him in this deal.
They think you are not giving the land-owners a square deal. Not that I'm
'knocking' _you_," the clerk denied, flushing at the dark look Corrigan
threw him. "That's merely what I hear. Personally, I'm for you. This town
needs men like you, and it can get along without fellows like Trevison."

"Thank you," smiled Corrigan, disgusted with the man, but feeling that it
might be well to cultivate such ingratiating interest. "Have a cigar."

"I'll go you. Yes, sir," he added, when he had got the weed going; "this
town can get along without any Trevisons. These sagebrush rummies out here
give me a pain. What this country needs is less brute force and more
brains!" He drew his shoulders erect as though convinced that he was not
lacking in the particular virtue to which he had referred.

"You are right," smiled Corrigan, mildly. "Brains are all important. A
hotel clerk must be well supplied. I presume you see and hear a great many
things that other people miss seeing and hearing." Corrigan thought this
thermometer of public opinion might have other information.

"You've said it! We've got to keep our wits about us. There's very little
escapes us." He leered at Corrigan's profile. "That's a swell Moll in
number eleven, ain't it?"

"What do you know about her?" Corrigan's face was inexpressive.

"Oh say now!" The clerk guffawed close to Corrigan's ear without making
the big man wink an eyelash. "You don't