cheek against the cold, twisted face.

Phil turned as Brenchfield was slowly rising on his arm. He went over
and picked up the whip.

"What are you going to do?" anxiously cried Eileen.

"Just three!" said Phil, "for the three he gave that poor, helpless
little devil. Say 'No' and I won't."

It was a challenge.

For answer, Eileen hid her face among Smiler's rags. And three times,
with all the force of a young blacksmith's arm behind it, that whip
rose and fell across the shoulders of Vernock's Mayor, ere it was
broken with a snap and tossed by Phil among the straw.

A little later and Smiler was on his feet, little the worse.

Eileen led him outside.

Phil and Brenchfield were then alone.

"Damn you, for an interloping jail-breaker! I'll fix you for this
before you're much older," growled the Mayor.

"Damn all you like," answered Phil, "but one word of any kind from you
of what has happened here to-night and you are the man who will be
trying to break jail. Keep your mouth shut, and we are square on what
has happened. Say as much as a word and--well,--it's up to you."

"Oh, you go to hell!" exclaimed Brenchfield.

CHAPTER XVII

Wayward Langford's Grand Highland Fling

Jim Langford did not make an appearance until breakfast time that
morning, and then there was dirt on his clothes, fire in his eyes and
venom on his tongue.

"What do you know?" asked Phil as soon as they were alone.

"Know? What did I tell you, man? Darn them for the four-flushing
hypocrites that they are. An hour ago Palmer came trotting back quite
calmly with his crew.

"'The bunch got away on us, across the Line,' he whimpered.

"A put-up game from start to finish! Oh, don't let me talk about it,
Phil. It makes me positively crazy. For ten cents I'd go and shoot up
the town."

Phil tried to get Jim to sit down and eat, but it was useless, for Jim
kept walking Mrs. Clunie's dining-room like something in a cage.

Knowing the danger of the mood, Phil kept a wise silence and, much as
he disliked it, he had to leave his angry chum and get along to his
work.

At the smithy, things were little better. Sol Hanson had, in a
roundabout way, gathered that Smiler had been abused, and, in some
inexplicable manner, had arrived at the truth, that Brenchfield was
responsible for it. Sol was vowing vengeance in no uncertain tones.

"What you know about it, Phil?"

"Guess he's just been in a scrap with some other kids," answered Ph