"I'm
strong for you, Ford," he added, and his smile was frank and friendly.
"Double Cross is the name of this outfit, but I'm all in favor of
running that brand on the cow-critters and keeping it out of the
bunk-house. If you should happen to feel like elucidating--" he hinted
delicately.
Ford had always liked Jim Felton; now he warmed to him as a real friend,
and certain things he told him. As much about the jug with the brown
neck and handle as concerned Dick, and all he knew of the bottles in the
haystack, while Jim smoked, and swung the foot which did not rest upon
the floor, and listened.
"Sounds like Dick, all right," he passed judgment, when Ford had
finished. "He counted on your falling for the jug--and oh, my! It was a
beautiful plant. I'd sure hate to have anybody sing 'Yield not to
temptation' at me, if a gallon jug of the real stuff fell into my arms
and nobody was looking." He eyed Ford queerly. "You've got quite a
reputation--" he ventured.
"Well, I earned it," Ford observed laconically.
"Dick banked on it--I'd stake my whole stack of blues on that. And after
you'd torn up the ranch, and pitched the fragments into the gulch, he'd
hold the last trump, with all high cards to keep the lead.
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