"Major Adair, this is Mr. Steven Molyneux," said the Lieutenant-Governor of Black Elk Territory. "I think you've met before, haven't you?"
A week had passed since Hector had watched the commencement of the great spring rush. In the Lieutenant-Governor's office in Discovery City, he shook hands with his enemy.
The Lieutenant-Governor offered chairs and cigars. There was an awkward pause. Gentleman as he was, he hastened to fill it.
"Mr. Molyneux had a pretty tough time on the way up here, Adair," he said.
"I tell you, Mr. Lancaster," the member for Broncho agreed, "I was never so glad to see the Old Flag as when I got to the top of Hopeful Pass. That place Prospect is beyond description. Everything was wide open and, while I was there, gun-fights through the streets every hour of the twenty-four. I saw fellows lying dead by the roadside with their pockets turned inside out. If it hadn't been for your Police being with me, I'd have been robbed sure. What a contrast between here and there! They say that Greasy Jones just runs Prospect. He must be a corker."
"He is."
"Don't let him in here."
"Don't worry," said Hector. "He daren't cross the line."
"There's some pretty tough birds in Discovery, all the same. Can you handle 'em?"
The Lieutenant-Governor put in his oar.