Brodie whirled and drew back, his face turning grey.

“Put it down, you old fool; put it down!” he cried raspingly.  “I’ll go.”

The old man cackled in his delight.

“I’ll put nothin’ down,” he announced triumphantly.  “You set down that box.”

Hastily Brodie put it on the table.  He drew further away, backing toward the front door.

“Git!” cried old Honeycutt.

They could hear the air rushing back into Brodie’s lungs as he came to the door and his fear left him.

“I’ll be back, Honeycutt, don’t you fear,” he growled savagely.  “As for you, King, you and me ain’t done.  I’ll get you where there’s no old fool to butt in, and I’ll break every bone in your body.”

“I’ll be ready, Brodie,” said King.  He watched the great hulking figure as it went out; two hundred and fifty pounds of brawn there, every ounce of it packed with power and the cunning of brutish battle.  If he ever fought Swen Brodie, just man to man, with only the weapons nature gave them, what would the end be?

But Brodie was gone, his shadow withdrawn from the doorstep, and he had his business with Honeycutt.  He left the door wide open so that no one might come suddenly upon them and turned to the old man.

“Put your gun down, Honeycutt,” he said quietly.  “I want to talk with you.”

“I got the big stiff on the run!” mumbled the old man.  “He cain’t come an’ bulldoze me.  Not me, he cain’t.  No, nor if Swen Brodie cain’t git the best of me, no other man can,” he added meaningly, glaring at King.

“There’s that box on the table,” said King.  “Maybe you’ll want to put it away before he makes you another visit.”

Honeycutt hastily set his gun down, leaning it against the wall with both hammers still back, and shambled to the table.  He caught the box up and hugged it to his thin old breast, breathing hard.

“If there’s money in it——­” said King, knowing well that the old miser had money secreted somewhere.

“Who said there was money?  Who said so?”

He went to his tumbled bunk in a corner, sat down on it, thrusting the box out of sight under the untidy heap of dirty bedding.

“I ain’t talkin’,” he said.  He glanced at his gun.  “You git, too.”

King felt that he could not have selected a more inopportune moment for his visit, and already began to fear that he would have no success to-day.  But it began to look as though it were a question of now or never; Brodie would return despite the shotgun, and Brodie might now be looked to for rough-shod methods.  So, in face of the bristling hostility, he was set in his determination to see the thing through to one end or another.  To catch an interest which he knew was always readily awakened, he said: 

“Brodie and Parker were on Lookout Ridge day before yesterday.  Brodie shoved Parker over. At Lookout Ridge, Honeycutt.”  He stressed the words significantly while keenly watching for the gleam of interest in the faded eyes.  It came; Honeycutt jerked his head up.