"It's packed good: it can't go off," Artie reassured us. "I know my
biz."

"What in God's name do you want such stuff for!" cried Judson.

"Oh, just emergencies," answered Brower, vaguely, but I remembered his
uncanny skill in opening the combination of the safe. Possibly that
contract between Emory and Hooper had come into his hands through
professional activities. However, that did not matter.

"I can make a drop of soup go farther than other men a pint," boasted
Artie. "I'll show you: and I'll show that old----"

"You'll probably get shot," observed Buck, watching him closely.

"W'at t'hell," observed Artie with an airy gesture.

"It's the dope he takes," I told Johnson aside. "It only lasts about so
long. Get him going before it dies on him."

"I see. Trot right along," Buck commanded.

Taking this as permission Brower clapped heels to the stallion and shot
away like an arrow.

"Hold on! Stop! Oh, damn!" ejaculated the señor. "He'll gum the whole
game!" He spurred forward in pursuit, realized the hopelessness of
trying to catch the Morgan, and reined down again to a brisk travelling
canter. We surmounted the long, slow rise this side of Hooper's in time