"Then I'll just date the change to-day," said Quigley. "Take a look down
the street."

Donovan rose heavily and stepped to the window. "By God, it's Waring,
all right! He's afoot. What's that he's packing?"

"A canteen," said the assistant manager. "This is a dry country."

Donovan returned to his desk. "Get busy, at something. We don't want to
sit here like a lot of stuffed buzzards. We're glad to see Waring back,
of course. You two can drift out when I get to talking business with
him."

Quigley nodded and took up his pen. The assistant manager studied a map.

Waring strode in briskly. The paymaster glanced up and nodded, expecting
Donovan to speak. But Donovan sat with his back toward Waring, his head
wreathed in tobacco smoke. He was apparently absorbed in a letter.

The gunman paused halfway across the office. Quigley fidgeted. The
assistant superintendent stole a glance at Donovan's broad back and
smiled. All three seemed waiting for Waring to speak. Quigley rather
enjoyed the situation. The assistant superintendent's scalp prickled
with restrained excitement.

He rose and stepped to Donovan. "Mr. Donovan, Mr. Waring is here."

"Thanks," said Waring, nodding to the assistant.

Donovan heaved himself round. "Why, hello, Jim! I didn't hear you come
in."

Waring's cool gray eyes held Donovan with a mildly contemptuous gaze.
Still the gunman did not speak.

"Did you land 'em?" queried Donovan.

Waring shook his head.

"Hell!" exclaimed Donovan. "Then, what's the answer?"

"Bill, you can't bluff worth a damn!"

Quigley laughed. The assistant mopped his face with an immaculate
handkerchief. The room was hot.

"Bill," and Waring's voice was softly insulting, "you can't bluff worth
a damn."

Donovan's red face grew redder. "What are you driving at, anyway?"

Quigley stirred and rose. The assistant got to his feet.

"Just a minute," said Waring, gesturing to them to sit down. "Donovan's
got something on his mind. I knew it the minute I came in. I want you
fellows to hear it."

Donovan flung his half-smoked cigar to the floor and lighted a fresh
one. Waring's attitude irritated him. Officially, Donovan was Waring's
superior. Man to man, the Sonora gunman was Donovan's master, and the
Irishman knew and resented it.

He tried a new tack. "Glad to see you back, Jim." And he rose and stuck
out a sweating hand.

Waring swung the canteen from his shoulder and carefully hung the strap
over Donovan's w