"It won't work, Major. This is a put-up job. Even if Applegate and his
strikers aren't along they've given my description. Somebody will know
I was with Foy last night, and they'll know I'm lying."

The Major sighed. "That's so, too. I'm afraid you're in for trouble."

"I'm used to that," said Pringle lightly. "Once, in Arizona----"

"Don't throw it up to me, John," said the Major a trifle sheepishly.
"I'll say this though: I wouldn't ask for a better man in a tight than
you."

"Thanks so much!" murmured Pringle. "And that Sir Hubert Stanley
thing."

"One more point, John: You don't know Foy. I do. Foy'll never give up.
He's desperate--and he's not pleased. There's no question of surrender
and standing trial; understand that. He'd be lynched, probably, if
they ever got him in Las Uvas. A trial, even, would be just lynching
under another name. They don't want to capture him anyway--they want a
chance to kill him."

"I wouldn't want the job," said Pringle.

"Hush!" said Stella. "I hear them coming. Talk about something
else--the war in Europe."

The Major picked up a paper.