11. SILENT BLUFFS

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      The coming of the railroad had changed Elkhead from a mere crossing of the ways to a rather important cattle shipping point. Once a year it became a bustling town whose two streets thronged with cattlemen with pockets burdened with gold which fairly burned its way out to the open air. At other times Elkhead dropped back into a leaden-eyed sleep.

      The most important citizen was Lee Hardy, the Wells Fargo agent. Office jobs are hard to find in the mountain-desert, and those who hold them win respect. The owner of a swivel-chair is more lordly than the possessor of five thousand "dogies." Lee Hardy had such a swivel-chair. Moreover, since large shipments of cash were often directed by Wells Fargo to Elkhead, Hardy's position was really more significant than the size of the village suggested. As a crowning stamp upon his dignity he had a clerk who handled the ordinary routine of work in the front room, while Hardy set himself up in state in a little rear office whose walls were decorated by two brilliant calendars and the coloured photograph of a blond beauty advertising a toilet soap.

      To this sanctuary he retreated during the heat of the day, while in the morning and evening he loitered on the small porch, chatting with passers-by. Except in the hottest part of the year he affected a soft white collar with a permanent bow tie. The leanness of his features, and his crooked neck with the prominent Adam's apple which stirred when he spoke, suggested a Yankee ancestry, but the faded blue eyes, pathetically misted, could only be found in the mountain-desert.

      One morning into the inner sanctum of this dignitary stepped a man built in rectangles, a square face, square, ponderous shoulders, and even square- tipped fingers. Into the smiling haze of Hardy's face his own keen black eye sparkled like an electric lantern flashed into a dark room. He was dressed in the cowboy's costume, but there was no Western languor in his make-up. Everything about him was clear cut and precise. He had a habit of clicking his teeth as he finished a sentence. In a word, when he appeared in the doorway Lee Hardy woke up, and before the stranger had spoken a dozen words the agent was leaning forward to be sure that he would not miss a syllable.

      "You're Lee Hardy, aren't you?" said he, and his eyes gave the impression of a smile, though his lips did not stir after speaking.

      "I am," said the agent.

      "Then you're the man I want to see. If you don't mind—"

      He closed the door, pulled a chair against it, and then sat down, and folded his arms. Very obviously he meant business. Hardy switched his position in his chair, sitting a little more to the right, so that the edge of the seat would not obstruct the movement of his hand towards the holster on his right thigh.

      "Well," he said good naturedly, "I'm waitin'."

      "Good," said the stranger, "I won't keep you here any longer than is necessary. In the first place my name is Tex Calder."

      Hardy changed as if a slight layer of dust had been sifted over his face. He stretched out his hand.

      "It's great to see you, Calder," he said, "of course I've heard about you. Everyone has. Here! I'll send over to the saloon for some red-eye. Are you dry?"

      He rose, but Calder waved him back to the swivel-chair.

      "Not dry a bit," he said cheerily. "Not five minutes ago I had a drink of —water."

      "All right," said Hardy, and settled back into his chair.

      "Hardy, there's been crooked work around here."

      "What in hell—"

      "Get your hand away from that gun, friend."

      "What the devil's the meaning of all this?"

      "That's very well done," said Calder. "But this isn't the stage. Are we going to talk business like friends?"

      "I've got nothing agin you," said Hardy testily, and his eyes followed Calder's right hand as if fascinated. "What do you want to say? I'll listen. I'm not very busy."

      "That's exactly it," smiled Tex Calder, "I want you to get busier."

      "Thanks."

      "In the first place I'll be straight with you. Wells Fargo hasn't sent me here."

      "Who has?"

      "My conscience."

      "I don't get your drift."

      Through a moment of pause Calder's eyes searched the face of Hardy.

      "You've been pretty flush for some time."

      "I ain't been starvin'."

      "There are several easy ways for you to pick up extra money."

      "Yes?"

      "For instance, you know all about the Wells Fargo money shipments, and there are men around here who'd pay big for what you could tell them."

      The prominent Adam's apple rose and fell in Hardy's throat.

      "You're quite a joker, ain't you Calder? Who, for instance?"

      "Jim Silent."

      "This is like a story in a book," grinned Hardy. "Go on. I suppose I've been takin' Silent's money?"

      The answer came like the click of a cocked revolver.

      "You have!"

      "By God, Calder—"

      "Steady! I have some promising evidence, partner. Would you like to hear part of it?"

      "This country has its share of the world's greatest liars," said Hardy, "I don't care what you've heard."

      "That saves my time. Understand me straight. I can slap you into a lock- up, if I want to, and then bring in that evidence. I'm not going to do it. I'm going to use you as a trap and through you get some of the worst of the long riders."

      "There's nothin' like puttin' your hand on the table."

      "No, there isn't. I'll tell you what you're to do."

      "Thanks."

      The marshal drove straight on.

      "I've got four good men in this town. Two of them will always be hanging around your office. Maybe you can get a job for them here, eh? I'll pay the salaries. You simply tip them off when your visitors are riders the government wants, see? You don't have to lift a hand. You just go to the door as the visitor leaves, and if he's all right you say: 'So long, we'll be meeting again before long.' But if he's a man I want, you say 'Good-bye.' That's all. My boys will see that it is good-bye."

      "Go on," said the agent, "and tell the rest of the story. It starts well."

      "Doesn't it?" agreed Calder, "and the way it concludes is with you reaching over and shaking hands with me and saying 'yes'!"

      He leaned forward. The twinkle was gone from his eyes and he extended his hand to Hardy. The latter reached out with an impulsive gesture, wrung the proffered hand, and then slipping back into his chair broke into hysterical laughter.

      "The