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 real laugh," said Calder, watching his man narrowly, "will be on the long riders."
"Tex," said the agent. "I guess you have the dope. I won't say anything except that I'm glad as hell to be out of the rotten business at last. Once started I couldn't stop. I did one 'favour' for these devils, and after that they had me in their power. I haven't slept for months as I'm going to sleep tonight!"
He wiped his face with an agitated hand.
"A week ago," he went on, "I knew you were detailed on this work. I've been sweating ever since. Now that you've come—why, I'm glad of it!"
A faint sneer touched Calder's mouth and was gone.
"You're a wise man," he said. "Have you seen much of Jim Silent lately?"
Hardy hesitated. The role of informer was new.
"Not directly."
Calder nodded.
"Now put me right if I go off the track. The way I understand it, Jim Silent has about twenty gun fighters and long riders working in gangs under him and combining for big jobs."
"That's about it."
"The inside circle consists of Silent; Lee Haines, a man who went wrong because the law did him wrong; Hal Purvis, a cunning devil; and Bill Kilduff, a born fighter who loves blood for its own sake."
"Right."
"Here's something more. For Jim Silent, dead or alive, the
