No chickens here; or--"

"Nope," assented Higham. "No chickens here. Hold on, a second!"

He stood, musing. Then he spoke.

"I was going to play a lone hand, on this," he said, presently.
"I didn't even dare let Rice in on it. He'd be dead-sure to tell
that gabby girl he's going to marry. And it'd get all over the
country in a week. And that'd lose me my job, if the boss heard
of it. I was going to play it alone. That's why I left Rice and
Willett to put up the dogs for me. But,--I'm blest if I know how
I'm to hold him and dye him at the same time. He's as strong as
an ox. You--you're a good, close-tongued kid, Harry. You kept
your mouth shut about Price's chickens. Could you keep it
shut,--for another dollar,--about this? If you'll do that, and
lend me a hand--How about it?"

"What's the main idea?" asked the boy, much intrigued by the
beauty of the dye on Higham's fingers; and squirming with
embarrassed self-importance at the man's flattering tone. "I'll
help out, all right. Only,--"

"Here's the notion," said Higham, coming out of momentary
self-communion. "And if you ever spill it, your mail will be sent
to you at the hosp't'l, for a spell. You saw that big dark sable
collie I had you steer into Stall Five? It cost me another two
dollars to get Abrams to let me have the use of that stall. The
idea come to me, in a jolt, first crack of thunder I heard. Well,
I'm due to 'get' that dog and the mucker who owns him, too. Them