Obediently he stood while the great whiskered fellow took the
weapons from his belt, and dived into his hip pockets.

"That'll do. Now--what do you want?"

"It's hard to put it into a few words," the other complained. "I'd
like to have a little talk with you."

"You are one of them fellows that come here to run us out of the
country, ain't you? I don't remember seeing you, but I guess you
belong to the bunch over on Red River. Well, you see we're still
here, meaning to stay. Are your pards outside there, waiting for
a message?"

"Nobody knows I'm here, or thought of coming. Let me put that
affair in its true light. The boys are all under our boss, and when
he lays down the law it isn't for us to argue with him--we carry out
orders--"

"Unless there's a Brick Willock involved in them orders," returned
the man, with a grim smile.

"But it's our duty to TRY to carry out the orders, whether we like
'em or not. So you won't hold that against me--that little
scrimmage of last month, especially as you came out best man."

"I used to have a boss, myself," Willock spoke uncompromisingly.
"But when he give me certain orders, one particular night that I
recollect, I knocked him on the head and put out for other parts.
You must of thought yourself in PRETTY business coming over here to