"I worked for Ol' Simon fifteen years ago. I drifted back last winter, an' I've been here ever since. Nobody knows me."
"Why are you tellin' me?"
"I hears a lot under th' floor, before you come, an' after," said Two-Spot. "My ears are good, an' I got some brains left—not much, but enough to put two an' two together. Likewise I'm feelin' sorry for them Arnolds. I don't like to see a gang of thieves robbin' helpless critters like them. An' there's more. When I was comin' down here I got ketched in a storm an' like to froze to death. I would have, too, if that Arnold gal hadn't rid across me, pulled me out of a snowbank, an' toted me to th' ranch. They took care of me till I was strong ag'in, an' fed me up. I was near starved when th' storm got me."
"But why are you tellin' all this to me?" demanded Johnny.
Two-Spot stretched and handed over the knife. "I'm an ol' man, now," he said, "but there was a time when I wasn't. You are a young man, an' square, fur's I know. You been hangin' 'round here playin' a lone hand against a bunch that'd cut your throat if they knowed what you've been doin'. There's a purty gal over on th' SV. She's square, too, an' helpless, an' lonely. She don't know what to do, nor where to turn. She layed in a nest of rocks one day an' was watchin' three Bar H punchers. A rattler showed up close to her, in a dead line with th' men. Scared to death of snakes, she was drawin' a bead on it, when a stranger offers her his cannon, an' his help. Then he gives her h—l about murder, an' goes away. But he don't go fur, only to Gunsight. He drives Squint out of th' country, kidnaps th' Doc, an' keeps a bunch of hoss thieves from killin' her ol' man. I never saw you before; I don't know how many cattle you've rustled nor how many trains you've stuck up. What's more, I don't care. I know a white man when I sees one, an' I'm not gamblin' when I shoots off my mouth to you. I'm only a two-spot; but even two-spots has their good points. You can allus remember that there's a two-spot holdin' a six-gun under that there floor any time you need him."
Johnny sat up: "I'm sayin' you ain't no two-spot, neither."
"Before I forget it, I want to tell you th' rest of it," went on Two-Spot, anger heightening his color. "As I was sayin', th' gal's white, an' square. She's plumb different from some I've seen in th' cow-towns. Big Tom wants th' SV, but he wants her, too; an' 'though he ain't pesterin' her now, I know him too well to think he's give up th' idea. He never lets loose. Th' only reason he's let up is because he figgers he's got a better way; an' he's patient. Can you imagine a whiskey-smellin', big brute like him courtin' her? Can you imagine how he'd do it? An' lemme tell you, Nelson: I am a two-spot, for if I'd been any good at all I'd 'a' put a knife into him an' then took my medicine, like a man. I was near sick with disappointment when you shot th' gun out of his hand."
"How do you know anythin' about that nest of rocks, an' th' three men?"
"I know lots of things I ain't supposed to, an' one of 'em is that Big Tom ain't give up th' notion of gettin' th' SV, nor her, neither. There ain't no parson in thirty miles—an' Big Tom is terrible lazy. Sometimes I near sees red!" He glanced up the trail. "Here comes little Charley, leadin' a pack hoss. He's after supplies at Dailey's—" he stopped short and looked at Johnny, who was looking at him through narrowed lids. The same thought had come to them both at the same time. "I'm bettin' he don't get 'em," Two-Spot prophesied.