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“You don’t know him as well as I do, Nett. He is so vain he’d do it, just to show that he could. He’d probably come in the evening. Does any one know him here? So many people pass through Kowatin every day. Has any one seen him?”

“Only Billy Goatry,” he answered, working his way to a solution of the dark problem. “Only Billy Goatry knows him. The fellow that led the singing–that was Goatry.”

“There he is now,” he added, as Billy Goat passed the window.

She came and laid a hand on his arm. “We’ve got to settle things with him,” she said. “If Dorl comes, Nett–“

There was silence for a moment, then he caught her hand in his and held it. “If he comes, leave him to me, Jo. You will leave him to me?” he added, anxiously.

“Yes,” she answered. “You’ll do what’s right–by Bobby?”

“And by Dorl, too,” he replied, strangely.

There were loud footsteps without.

“It’s Goatry,” said Foyle. “You stay here. I’ll tell him everything. He’s all right; he’s a true friend. He’ll not interfere.”

The handle of the door turned slowly. “You keep watch on the post-office, Jo,” he added.

Goatry came round the opening door with a grin.

“Hope I don’t intrude,” he said, stealing a half-leering look at the girl. As soon as he saw her face, however, he straightened himself up and took on different manners. He had not been so intoxicated as he had made out, and he seemed only “mellow” as he stood before them, with his corrugated face and queer, quaint look, the eye with the cast in it blinking faster than the other.

“It’s all right, Goatry,” said Foyle. “This lady is one of my family from the East.”

“Goin’ on by stage?” Goatry said, vaguely, as they shook hands.

She did not reply, for she was looking down the street, and presently she started as she gazed. She laid a hand suddenly on Foyle’s arm.

“See–he’s come,” she said, in a whisper, and as though not realizing Goatry’s presence. “He’s come.”

Goatry looked, as well as Foyle. “Halbeck–the devil!” he said.

Foyle turned to him. “Stand by, Goatry. I want you to keep a shut mouth. I’ve work to do.”

Goatry held out his hand. “I’m with you. If you get him this time, clamp him, clamp him like a tooth in a harrow.”

Halbeck had stopped his horse at the post-office door. Dismounting, he looked quickly round, then drew the reins over the horse’s head, letting them trail, as is the custom of the West.

A few swift words passed between Goatry and Foyle.

“I’ll do this myself, Jo,” he whispered to the girl presently. “Go into another room. I’ll bring him here.”

* * * * *

In another minute Goatry was leading the horse away from the post-office, while Foyle stood waiting quietly at the door. The departing footsteps of the horse brought Halbeck swiftly to the doorway, with a letter in his hand.

“Hi, there, you damned sucker!” he called after Goatry, and then saw Foyle waiting.

“What the hell–!” he said, fiercely, his hand on something in his hip-pocket.

“Keep quiet, Dorl. I want to have a little talk with you. Take your hand away from that gun–take it away!” he added, with a meaning not to be misunderstood.

Halbeck knew that one shout would have the town on him, and he did not know what card his brother was going to play. He let his arm drop to his side. “What’s your game? What do you want?” he asked, surlily.

“Come over to the Happy Land Hotel,” Foyle answered, and in the light of what was in his mind his words had a grim irony.

With a snarl Halbeck stepped out. Goatry, who had handed the horse over to the hostler, watched them coming.

“Why did I never notice the likeness before?” Goatry said to himself. “But, gosh! what a difference in the men. Foyle’s going to double cinch him this time, I guess.”