"How long is it, Max?" asked Peterson.

"Let's see. It was two weeks ago come Tuesday."

"Sure?"

"Yes. We got the letter the same day the red-headed man came here. His
hair was good and red." Max laughed broadly at the recollection. "He came
into the office just as we was reading it."

"Oh, yes. My friend, the walking delegate."

"What's that?" Bannon snapped the words out so sharply that Peterson
looked at him in slow surprise.

"Oh, nothing," he said. "A darn little rat of a red-headed walking
delegate came out here--had a printed card with Business Agent on it--and
poked his long nose into other people's business for a while, and asked
the men questions, and at last he came to me. I told him that we treated
our men all right and didn't need no help from him, and if I ever caught
him out here again I'd carry him up to the top of the jim pole and leave
him there. He went fast enough."

"I wish he'd knocked you down first, to even things up," said Bannon.

"Him! Oh, I could have handled him with three fingers."

"I'm going out for a look around," said Bannon, abruptly.

He left Peterson still smiling good-humoredly over the incident.