"I could get you a dozen for that."

"Oh, now, Phil!"

Rattlesnake Jim was getting impatient.

"Say, mister--if you're interested, come outside and talk. No use trying to make a deal, with this old man of the sea out playin'

b.u.t.tinsky."

"Don't be a fool now," interposed Phil. "Stay where you are!"

But DeRue Hannington was in the toils again, and the fever was in his blood.

Dalton walked slowly to the door.

Hannington hesitated, looked sheepishly at Phil, then exclaimed over his shoulder:

"Eh, excuse me, old chap,--won't you!" And he hurried alongside the owner of The Lost Durkin Gold Mine.

"Couldn't you come down a bit in your price, old dear? Your figure seems deuced steep where mines seem to be so beastly plentiful," Phil heard Hannington say.

At the door Dalton stopped.

"One thousand for the mine, and just to show you that I'm a real sport and playin' fair, I'll throw the white mare in for luck."

Hannington gasped, then slapped Dalton on the shoulder and grabbed his hand in ecstasy at the overflow of generosity on the part of the mine owner.

"Done,--done! It's a bally go!"

And the two disappeared outside in head-to-head conversation, to the accompaniment of a round of loud laughter from some old timers in the saloon who had overheard part of the talk and who knew that once more a sheep was about to be shorn of its wool.

Phil swung round with his back and elbows on the counter. He surveyed the crowd dimly through the haze of smoke in the bar-room.

Just then Jim Langford came in by the swinging doors.

Phil went over to him directly, led him to a table in the corner, and told him in a few, quick sentences of the thieving visit that had been made to his room at Mrs. Clunie's.

"There's more in this than you think," said Langford, after Phil had concluded. "Haven't you heard the news of the other thieving in town?"

"No,--where was it?"

"A gang must have been working on the O.K. Supply Company's premises last night. Three days ago, Morrison unloaded two carloads of feed and flour in his No. 1 Warehouse. They haven't sold a nickel's worth, and this morning there aren't fifty sacks left."

"Was the place broken into?" asked Phil.

"Must have been, but every bolt and bar is secure, so are all the padlocks. It's a mighty queer thing.

"I had it on the inside that the Pioneer Traders were shy last week, but they gave out no report; and Mayor Brenchfield, whose Warehouse and stables lie between the Pioneer Traders and the O.K. Supply Co.

lodged a complaint with Chief Palmer this morning that he had lost forty bags of bran and oats from his place. Of course, his loss isn't a patch on the loss of the other two.

"You know, this darned thing has been going on for several years.

Somebody is getting fat on it. The O.K. Supply Company have lost sixty thousand dollars' worth in four or five years. They have put new locks and bolts on, but all to no purpose. The Pioneer Traders must be considerably shy, too.

"The Police don't do a thing, and everybody seems scared to act for fear of being got back at in some way.

"The Indians are being blamed for it; so are some of the wilder element who have cattle ranches and lots of live stock to feed. Easy way to fatten your animals, eh, Phil!

"If we could lay the man by the heels who ransacked your place, we might be able to get a clue to the others."

Phil shook his head. "No,--I don't think so!" he answered.

"Well, old man Morrison of the O.K. Company is a decent head and these continual robberies are bleeding him white. He told me all about it this morning.

"I have made arrangements to quit the Court House for a while and take a job with him as warehouseman, just to see what I can fasten on to."

"Won't they get suspicious if they know you are on the job?"

Langford laughed. "Good Lord, no! I have been in a dozen jobs in this town in as many months. Besides, n.o.body ever thinks of me as a Sherlock Holmes. I'm just languishing for a little excitement anyway."

"You won't forget then to call me in to lend a hand if there is any sc.r.a.pping going?" said Phil.

"Would you really come in on it?"

"You bet!"

"All right! This old burg will have something to wake it up one of these days."

Their attention was distracted by the rattle of gravel on the window at which they were sitting. Langford shook his fist at a disappearing figure.

"Who was that?" asked Phil.

"Don't know! Looked like Smiler, the dummy kid. Queer little devil!"

Phil jumped up.

"Maybe he's got some information for me. Wait here! I'll be back directly."

Phil went outside slowly and round the corner of the building to the back-yard. Sure enough, as soon as no one was in sight, Smiler darted up to him. He was all excitement and kept pointing to a clump of trees down a side road.

"Did you find the man with the lame horse?" Phil asked.

Smiler nodded and grinned with pleasure, catching Phil by the coat and leading the way cautiously to where stood the brown mare with the white patch over her eye. She was tethered to a tree, well hidden from view of the road.

Phil examined her legs and saw at a glance that she favoured her left fore foot. A look showed him that some gravel had worked up into an old sore.

Phil pulled the strings of a bag that hung from the saddle. The first things he came across were his own spurs. He took possession of them.

Meanwhile, Smiler was watching with deep interest.