domineering voice.

Dave waited without answering, his eyes meeting steadily those of the
foreman.

The big fellow laid a paper on the breast of the cowpuncher. "Here's a
bill for a pair of boots you charged to the old man's account--eighteen
dollars. I got it just now at the store. You'll dig up."

It was the custom for riders who came to town to have the supplies they
needed charged to their employers against wages due them. Doble took it
for granted that Sanders had done this, which was contrary to the orders
he had given his outfit. He did not know the young man had lost his boots
while rescuing Crawford and had been authorized by him to get another
pair in place of them.

Nor did Dave intend to tell him. Here was a chance to even the score
against the foreman. Already he had a plan simmering in his mind that
would take him out of this part of the country for a time. He could no
longer work for Doble without friction, and he had business of his own to
attend to. The way to solve the immediate difficulty flashed through his
brain instantly, every detail clear.

It was scarcely a moment before he drawled an answer. "I'll 'tend to it
soon as I'm out of the chair."

"I gave orders for none of you fellows to charge goods to the old man,"
said Doble harshly.

"Did you?" Dave's voice was light and careless.