gry, bewildered eyes upon her
companion. "Impertinence!"

The man nodded significantly.

"Sure. Them two scallywags of yours ain't got nothin' to give to the
building of the chu'ch. Which means they'll need to get busy workin'
on it. Guess work never did come welcome to Mister Peter Clancy and
Nick. They hate work worse'n washin'--an' that's some. Guess they
borrowed your team to do a bit o' haulin', which--kind o' squares
their account. They're bright boys."

"Bright? They're impertinent rascals and--and--oh!"

Helen's exasperation left her almost speechless.

"Which is mighty nigh a compliment to them," observed the man.

But Helen's sense of humor utterly failed her now.

"It's--too bad, Dirty," she cried. "And poor Kate thinks they're out
cutting our winter hay. I begged of her only this morning to 'fire'
them both. I'm--I'm sure they're going to get us into trouble
when--when the police come here. I hate the sight of them both. Last
time Pete got drunk he--he very nearly asked me to marry him. I
believe he would have, only I had a bucket of boiling water in my
hand."

Again came the man's curious chuckle.

"It won't be you folks they get into trouble," he declared
enigmatically. "An' I guess it ain't goin' to be 'emselves, neither.
But when the p'lice get hot after 'em, why, they'll shift the
scent--sure."

Helen's eyes had suddenly become anxious.

"You mean--Charlie Bryant," she half whispered.

The man nodded.

"Sure. An' anybody else, so--_they_ get clear." O'Brien's eyes
hardened as they contemplated the distant teamster. "Say," he went on,
after a brief pause, "there are some low-down bums in this city.
There's Shorty Solon, the Jew boy. He's wanted across the border fer
shootin' up a bank manager, and gettin' off with the cash. Ther's
Crank Heufer, the squarehead stage robber, shot up more folks, women,
too, in Montana than 'ud populate a full-sized city. Ther's Kid
Blaney, the faro sharp, who broke penitentiary in Dakota twelve months
back. Ther's Macaddo, the train 'hold-up,' mighty badly wanted in
Minnesota. Ther's Stormy Longton, full of scalps to his gun, a bad man
by nature. Ther's Holy Dick, over there," he went on, pointing at a
gray-bearded, mild-looking man, sitting on a log beside a small group
of lounging spectators. "He owes the States Government seven good
years for robbing a church. Ther's Danny Jarvis and Fighting Mike,
both of 'em dodgin' the law, an' would shoot their own