Fadeaway's suggestion had its intended effect. The younger man knew
that an appeal to the law would be futile so long as he chose to ignore
that clause in the will which covered the contingency he was
illustrating by his conduct. Fadeaway again cautioned him as he became
loud in his invective against his brother. The cowboy, while posing as
friend and adviser, was in reality working out a subtle plan of his
own, a plan of which Corliss had not the slightest inkling.

"And the Concho's makin' good," said Fadeaway, helping himself to a
drink. He shoved the bottle toward Corliss. "Take a little
'Forget-it,' Billy. That's her! Here's to what's yours!" They drank
together. The cowboy rolled a cigarette, tilted back his chair, and
puffed thoughtfully. "Yes, she's makin' good. Why, Bud is gettin' a
hundred and twenty-five, now. Old Hi Wingle's drawin' down
eighty--Jack's payin' the best wages in this country. Must of cleaned
up four or five thousand last year. And here you're settin', broke."

"Well, you needn't rub it in," said Corliss, frowning.

Fadeaway grinned. "I ain't, Billy. I'm out of a job myself: and
nothin' comin'--like you."

Corliss felt that there was something in his companion's easy drift
that had not as yet come to the surface. Fadeaway's hard-lined face
was unreadable. The cowboy saw a question in the other's eyes and
cleverly ignored it. Since meeting the brother he had arrived at a
plan to revenge himself on John Corliss and he intended that the
brother should take the initiative.

He got up and proffered his hand. "So long, Billy. If you ever need a