He was thinking of the talk
he had had with Conniston, how Conniston had gone to Argyl's father.
"After all," he grunted to himself, as he pinched out his cigarette
and lighted another, "they were made for each other. And I lose my one
chief bet this incarnation. Hello! Come in!" For there had come a
sudden sharp knocking at the outer door.
The door was pushed open and a big man, dusty from riding, came slowly
into the front room, cast a quick glance about him, and came on into
Garton's room. Garton started as he saw who the man was.
"Hello, Wallace!" he said, sitting up and putting out his hand. "What
in the world brings you here?"
Wallace laughed, returned the greeting, and sat down upon the cot
across the room. And as he came into the circle of light thrown out by
the lamp a nickeled star shone for a moment from under his coat, which
was carelessly flung back.
"Jest rampsin' around, Tommy," he answered, quietly, making himself a
cigarette. "Jest seein' what I could see. You fellers keepin' pretty
busy, ain't you?"
"Yes. Too busy to get into trouble, Bill." He lay back and sent a new
cloud of smoke to soar aloft over the lamp-chimney. "We haven't had a
visit from a sheriff for six months."
"Oh, I know you been bein' good, all right. If everybody was like you
fellers I'd have one lovely, smooth job. Goin' to make a go of this
thing, ain't you, Tommy?"
"You bet we are!" cried Garton, enthusiastically.
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