Having eaten enough to arouse the unqualified admiration of George, Johnny went to the kitchen and became busy with patch paper, tallow, and loading cup, and had just finished the twenty-fifth, and last, cartridge, when Two-Spot wandered in. George was out attacking the wood pile.

"Got \'em done, huh? Ain\'t it better to buy \'em?" asked Two-Spot, looking into the dining-room.

"It is, Ol\' Timer, when you can. Just now I can\'t get \'em, so I got to make \'em."

His companion looked at the belt full of .45\'s. "Gimme a couple of them? I want to try somethin\'."

Johnny complied. "Want to see if they fits?" he asked.

"What you mean?"

"Carson dropped his gun under Dave\'s floor. Who got th\' one in th\' road?"

"Don\'t say nothin\'," begged Two-Spot. "Dave\'s an old woman, an\' I don\'t want nobody to know I got it. He got th\' other."

"What you goin\' to do with yourn?"

"Keep it in my bunk. I might need it, sometime. I ought to have a rifle, though."

"I\'ll get you one," promised Johnny.

"What you goin\' to do this afternoon?" asked Two-Spot,[86] his face beaming at the thought of owning a rifle.

"Don\'t know yet."

"It\'s time you knowed about things out here. You ride up th\' Juniper trail to th\' second draw, in about an hour, an\' I\'ll fix yore case rack so you\'ll know what cards are out. Yo\'re guessin\' good, but Faro ain\'t th\' only game where keepin\' cases is better."

"Why go up there?"

"Well, purty soon it ain\'t goin\' to be healthy for anybody to be too friendly with you," said Two-Spot, reflectively. "Anyhow, I\'ll be worth more if I ain\'t suspected of bein\' too talkative."

"Th\' best way to get suspected is to hide out when you don\'t have to," said Johnny. "You wander over to that grass spot across th\' road from Dave\'s an\' Dailey\'s in about an hour, an\' lay down to rest yore lazy bones, with yore head toward th\' saloon, so nobody can see that yo\'re talkin\' steady. I\'ll try to get there first. It\'ll be innocent as sheep. Pepper hankers for live grass—an\' she deserves what she hankers for."

"She does," responded Two-Spot. "Big Tom was in yesterday talkin\' to Dailey. I heard him say somethin\' about no supplies. They had an argument an\' finally Dailey says: \'All right; if you say so.\'"

Johnny nodded. "I\'ll see you around front in about an hour."

About the time agreed upon Two-Spot stopped sweeping and looked out of the door. "Things look plumb peaceful, Dave," he said. "There\'s Nelson lyin\' on his back over there in th\' sun. He\'s too comfortable. Got a notion to stir him up."

[87]

"You stir up that broom an\' get through," replied Dave. "You\'re sweepin\' later an\' later every mornin\'."

The sweeper sighed and went to work again, with a vigor so carefully figured that Dave was on the verge of speaking about dust several times, but thought better of it each time. Finishing his chores, Two-Spot shuffled out and threw a can at the recumbent figure over on the grass. It stirred and raised its head.

"I\'ll turn you inside out," it threatened.

"You couldn\'t turn a glove inside out," retorted Two-Spot.

Johnny grunted. He was silent for a moment, and then inquired, "What you doin\', Feather Head?"

"Workin\'."

"Then you can\'t do it," regretted Johnny.

"What?"

"Bring over a couple of cigars."

"Show me yore money."

Johnny rolled over on his side and produced a coin, which he held up.

"Chuck it over," said Two-Spot.

"Yo\'re too busy," jeered Johnny.

"Chuck it, an\' see."

Johnny sat up and sent the coin glittering through the air, Two-Spot making an unexpected catch. He went into the saloon, soon reappeared, and shuffled across the road. Sitting down at Johnny\'s side with his back to the buildings, he lit his cigar and lazily reclined. "I shore appreciates this rest," he sighed.

Johnny laughed outright. "Yo\'re worked to death," he jibed.

[88]

"Ol\' Simon Verrier," began Two-Spot, "was th\' first owner of th\' SV. He run it for twenty years, an\' there wasn\'t nobody in all that time done any devilment an\' wanted to repeat it. He was testy, big, an\' powerful, an\' he reckoned th\' gun he packed was made to be used. He had Buck Sneed for his best man, an\' an outfit what believed th\' same as he did about guns. At that time there wasn\'t no boundaries, not fixed. Th\' ranches sort of mingled along th\' edges. Then th\' Bar H got notions. It sort of honed for that valley, an\' made a play or two for it. There wasn\'t no third. Ol\' Simon an\' Buck rid down to th\' Bar H house an\' spoke plain. Failin\' to have any lines didn\'t bother them two. They picked th\' ridges of th\' dividin\' hills an\' says: \'Them\'s th\' lines; stay on yore own side.\'"

Johnny laughed for the benefit of any of the curious on the other side of the road.

"Ol\' Frank Harper owned th\' Bar H in them days. Poker an\' drink was his failin\'s. His poker took Dailey out of th\' saddle an\' put him into th\' store, an\' it did th\' same for Dave. It also put a mortgage on th\' Bar H. More\'n that, it kept him drinkin\' harder an\' harder—an\' he was found dead one day in East Canyon; he had fell off his cayuse an\' busted his neck. Th\' mortgage was foreclosed an\' th\' present owners of th\' ranch bought it in an\' hired Big Tom to run it.

"Th\' first thing Big Tom did was to forget all about them boundary lines. Ol\' Simon an\' him had words, an\' when th\' smoke cleared Big Tom had four slugs out of five into him; but he\'s got th\' strength of a grizzly an\' pulled through. About th\' time he was[89] ridin\' around ag\'in, on his own side of th\' lines, Simon got his feet wet an\' died in four days. I says that is downright funny. He had weathered stampedes, gunplay, northers, an\' th\' Lord only knows what for sixty years, an\' then he goes an\' dies from wet feet!"

Johnny nodded and pushed Pepper\'s muzzle from his face, "Keep a-feedin\', girl," he ordered; "I won\'t sneak away."

"Well," continued Two-Spot, "Buck buried th\' ol\' man, an\' went right on runnin\' things for th\' heirs. He kept th\' outfit together, an\' th\' ranch was payin\' fine. Then th\' heirs, eastern mutton-heads, didn\'t like his spellin\', an\' his habit of writin\' letters when he was mad. They fired him, an\' th\' oufit, feelin\' insulted personally, quit th\' ranch an\' went with him."

"I\'ve knowed outfits just like that," murmured Johnny, reflectively.

"Th\' new foreman came, an\' went. Likewise th\' second. They had a mark to live up to—it lays along th\' top of them hills—an\' they wasn\'t big enough to do it. Meanwhile th\' SV was goin\' to th\' dogs. Then Ol\' Arnold bought it an\' came out to run it. He was a tenderfoot, an\' came out for his health. Things was happenin\' all th\' time. His herds was shrinkin\'. Rustlin\', shootin\', maverick huntin\', an\' them quicksands kept a-cuttin\' his herds. Just about that time Big Tom dynamites th\' rock slide in Little Canyon, an\' forthwith loses his water. Then things happen faster than ever. He makes a play toward th\' Double X; but th\' Double X talks plain an\' he reckons he better get th\' SV."

Johnny sat up and stretched. "Let\'s play mumble-peg,"[90] he suggested, producing a clasp knife. "This steady talkin\' is lastin\' a long time, though I don\'t believe they hear you. I better cut in an\' ask fool questions for th\' looks of it."

"That\'ll come easy to you," retorted Two-Spot. "Well, things was goin\' from bad to worse on th\' SV. They couldn\'t keep an outfit. Them that wasn\'t scared away was bribed to quit. Dahlgren, Lang, an\' Gurley all was SV men. Ol\' Arnold borrowed three thousand dollars on his note in Highbank two years ago. Big Tom bought it an\' holds it now. I think it\'s due next spring. Arnold has had to sell cows in small bunches to buy grub. There ain\'t no nat\'ral increase, an\' th\' Bar H has a lot more calves an\' yearlin\'s than Nature gave it. For th\' last year th\' SV ain\'t been bothered very much. It\'s so close to dyin\' that I reckon Big Tom would rather wait a little longer an\' have somethin\' left to take when he does get it."

"Pleasant sort of a buzzard, Big Tom," said Johnny. "You missed then—gimme th\' knife."

"Once in a while Lang or Gurley drive a cow into th\' quicksands, just to keep their hands in. They work for th\' Triangle, but really for Big Tom. They\'re handy for him, seein\' that they has th\' Triangle range next to th\' SV."

"Them names are easy to remember," observed Johnny, surrendering the knife.

"Big Tom wants th\' SV for its water," said Two-Spot. "That\'s what most folks think. I think him an\' some friends he\'s got somewhere aim to get it cheap an\' run it themselves."

[91]

"What\'s th\' Doc doin\' squattin\' where he is?" queried Johnny.

"There was some talk about th\' SV\'s title to that end of it lyin\' west of th\' main trail, an\' I reckon he\'s there to file a homestead claim if it\'s needed; but I really don\'t know."

"An\' these other ranches are settin\' back an\' watchin\' a sick man, a woman, an\' a kid get robbed?" asked Johnny.

"Th\' Triangle is scared of th\' Bar H," answered Two-Spot. "It had its lesson ten years ago, an\' ain\'t forgot it. Hank Lewis ain\'t got no nerve—it\'s only gall. Sam Gardner is sore about th\' game, but he\'s all alone. Lefferts an\' Reilly don\'t care much, an\' Lang an\' Gurley are in Big Tom\'s pay."

"What about th\' Double X?" demanded Johnny.

"They are so far off they don\'t take no interest. They keeps over there purty much an\' don\'t meddle, an\', besides, they has troubles of their own, with th\' rustlin\' goin\' on along their west edge."

"How do you know all this?" said Johnny.

"I worked for Ol\' Simon fifteen years ago. I drifted back last winter, an\' I\'ve been here ever since. Nobody knows me."

"Why are you tellin\' me?"

"I hears a lot under th\' floor, before you come, an\' after," said Two-Spot. "My ears are good, an\' I got some brains left—not much, but enough to put two an\' two together. Likewise I\'m feelin\' sorry for them Arnolds. I don\'t like to see a gang of thieves robbin\' helpless critters like them. An\' there\'s more. When[92] I was comin\' down here I got ketched in a storm an\' l............