s fellows got together
on the quiet some night an' seized a few elevators--Say, wouldn't it
bring things to a head so quick we'd get action? The law's there, but
these fellows are deliberately breakin' it an' we got to show 'em----"

"The action you'd get would be the wrong kind, Mac," protested W. R.
Motherwell emphatically. "You'd land in jail!"

"Don't see it that way," persisted McNair. "Wouldn't give a
continental if I did so long's it woke a few people up."

"I tell you you're on the wrong trail unless you want to get it where
the chicken got the axe!"

"Doggone it, man! Ain't that where we're gettin' it _now_?"

"Whereas with the right kind of organization----"

"Don't believe it," grunted McNair, starting to climb back to his
horse. "The time for any more o' these here granny tea-parties is past
to my way o' thinkin' an' if we can't agree on it, we'd better shut up
before we get mad." He vaulted easily into the saddle. "But I'll tell
you one thing, W. R.--there's the sweetest little flare-up you ever saw
on its way. I was talkin' the other day to Ed. Partridge, the Railton
boys, Al. Quigley, Billy Bonner and some more----"

"And I'll bet they gave you a lot of sound advice, Mac!" laughed
Motherwell confidently.

"That's alright," resented McNair, the tan of his cheek deepening a
trifle. "They're a pretty sore bunch an' a fellow from down Turtle
Mountain way in Manitoba told me----"

"That the mud-turtle and the jack-rabbit finally agreed that slow and
steady----"

"Bah! You're sure hopeless," grinned the owner of the Two-Bar, giving
his horse the rein.

"Hope_ful_," corrected W. R. Motherwell with a laugh. "Tell Wilson, if
you see him, that Peter Dayman and I are expecting him over next week,
will you? And I say, Mac, don't kill too many before you get home!" he
called in final jocularity.

The flying horseman waved his hat and his "S'long" came back faintly.
The other watched till horse and rider lost themselves among the
distant wheat stocks. The twinkle died out of his eyes as he watched.

So McNair was another of them, eh? After all, that was only to be
expected of an old Indian fighter and cow-puncher like him. Poor Bob!
He had his reputation to sustain among the newcomers--hard rider, hard
fighter, hard drinker; to do it under the changed conditions naturally
required some hard talking on occasion. While Mac had become civilized
enough to keep one foot in a cowhide boot plan