o lied about the Elliott Bay National Bank?"

The blood leaped to the rancher's temples and he stepped menacingly
toward the Indian. But before he could strike, Kitsap's voice again rang
out:

"You are a double liar! You borrowed money to pay pickers, but used it
to buy hops at fourteen cents, after telling the ranchers that you had
sold. That was the first lie. You told the Indians that the bank would
not loan you enough to pay them. That was another lie. But the bank has
found you out!"

The rancher stood speechless before the unexpected words of the Indian.
The clenched fist fell to his side. The young man who stood there before
him, with the straight proud poise of the savage chieftain, spoke the
words of the white man's warfare, the warfare of the mart and of barter.
He must be met and beaten on his own ground. Clearly, he had spoken to
effect, and the rancher must justify his position before his fellow
ranchers, whose eyes were so intently watching him.

"You seem to know a lot about the bank's business," he began, with an
attempt at sarcasm. "I suppose the president consults you on loans."

"The president did on this one," replied the Indian. The ranchers
laughed.

"Then perhaps he told you that this one was amply secured by my hop
receipts," boasted Lamson.

"He did."

"Then what the bloomin' ---- is it to him what I do with the cash?"

"He sent me to give you back that lie about the bank."

"Well"----

"I have. I called you a liar, and then proved it. Your name is--Two
Lies!"

Lamson's color came back, but this time it was the color of anger. His
hand went half-way to his revolver, but a broad-shouldered rancher
caught his arm.

"None o' that, Lamson."

Lamson wrenched his arm away. The big rancher faced him.

"This here Kitsap is telling the truth," said he. "I reckon he's got
still more of it to give us. And we will expect you to fish or cut bait.
But I'll hold this." Then he clapped his hand on Lamson's gun pocket and
disarmed him. The three St. Louis hop buyers looked wistfully toward the
door. But prudence held them to the spot.

"You are making a big fuss over nothing," sputtered Lamson. "Whose
business is it if I do buy hops? The bank is secured on its loan."

"It's our business a whole lot," said the big rancher, gently tapping
the handle of Lamson's revolver on Lamson's chest. "You give out that
you are selling hops at fourteen cents and advise a lot of us fellows to
do the same.