and beard after the fashion set by the third Napoleon and imitated
faithfully by those who sing the part of Mephistopheles in _Faust_.
Hence, his grin was handsomely diabolic.

"You needn't ask me what I'd like; you just tell me what you want me to
do," he rejoined, with clansman loyalty.

"So I will," said Ford, taking the reins of authority. "We leave here
to-morrow morning for a trip over the Pass and down the Pannikin on the
other side, and if anybody asks you why, you can say that we expect to
kill a deer or two, and possibly a bear. Your part of the outsetting,
however, is to pack your surveying instruments on the burro saddles so
they'll pass for grub-boxes, tent-poles, and the like."

"Call it done," said Frisbie. "But why all this stage play? Can't you
anticipate that much without endangering your bubble?"

Ford lowered his voice again.

"I gave you the hint. Penfield, my chief clerk--his desk is just on the
other side of that partition--is an ex-main-line man, shoved upon me
when I didn't want him. He was General Manager North's stenographer.
For reasons which will be apparent to you a little later on, I want to
blow my bubble in my own way; or, to change the figure, I'd like to fire
the first volley myself."

Frisbie's grin was rather more than less diabolic.

"Then I'd begin by firing Mr. Penfield, himself," he remarked.