"It's all right, Joe."

The surgeon shrugged his shoulders in mock despair.

"There it is again. I'm getting to be of no account."

Something in Elise's face caused him to look again. Then he was at her
side. Taking her arm, he glanced at the hand she was trying to hide.

"It doesn't amount to anything." Elise was trying to free her arm.

From the palm up the hand was red and blistered.

"Now I'll show my authority. How did it happen?"

"The powder was burning. I was afraid it might explode."

"What if it had exploded?"

Firmstone asked the question of Elise. She made no reply. He hardly
expected she would. Nevertheless he did not dismiss the question from
his mind. As he rode away with the company surgeon, he asked it over and
over again. Then he made answer to himself.

CHAPTER XVII

_The Bearded Lion_

Zephyr was doing some meditation on his own account after the meeting
with Firmstone at the Devil's Elbow.

That not only Firmstone's reputation, but his life as well, hung in the
balance, Zephyr had visible proof. This material proof he was absently
tipping from hand to hand, during his broken and unsatisfactory
interview with Firmstone. It was nothing more nor less than a
nickel-jacketed bullet which, that very morning, had barely missed his
head, only to flatten itself against the rocks behind him.

The morning was always a dull time at the Blue Goose. Morrison slept
late. Elise was either with Madame or rambling among the hills. Only
Pierre, who seemed never to sleep, was to be counted upon with any
certainty.

By sunrise on the day that Firmstone and Miss Hartwell were riding to
the Falls Zephyr was up and on his way to the Blue Goose. He found
Pierre in the bar-room.

"_Bon jour, M'sieur._" Zephyr greeted him affably as he slowly sank into
a chair opposite the one in which Pierre was seated.

Pierre, with hardly a movement of his facial muscles, returned Zephyr's
salutation. From his manner no one would have suspected that, had
someone with sufficient reason inquired as to the whereabouts of Zephyr,
Pierre would have replied confidently that the sought-for person was
bobbing down the San Miguel with a little round hole through his head.
Zephyr's presence in the flesh simply told him that, for some unknown
reason, his plan had miscarried.

Zephyr lazily rolled a cigarette and placed it between his lips. He
raised his eyes languidly to Pierre's.

"M'sieu Pierre mek one slick plan.