"And who are you?" asked the saloonkeeper.
"Don't you recognize me, Murphy?" asked Jim, pleasantly. "I have the advantage of you there. My name is Manning."
The saloonkeeper made a long-armed reach for a gun that stood in the corner.
"One moment, please," said Jim. As he spoke he jumped over the bar, bearing the saloonkeeper down with him before the long-armed reach encompassed the gun. Jim removed Murphy's knife, then picked up the gun himself.
Murphy started for the door with a jump. "Break nothing!" he yelled. "I'll have the law of New Mexico on you for this."
Murphy leaped directly into Bill Underwood's arms. "Hello, sweetie," said Bill, holding Murphy close. "Thought I'd come up and see how you was making it, Boss."
"Nicely, thanks," said Jim. "I'll be finished as soon as he breaks up his stock."
"It'll be some punishment for me to watch a job like that," said Bill, "but I'm with you, Boss."
He shifted his gun conspicuously as he released Murphy. Bill owed the saloonkeeper something over six weeks' pay. The occasion had an unholy joy for him. Murphy looked Jim over, scratched his head and started to whistle nonchalantly. In ten minutes he had destroyed his stock in trade. When he had finished, he handed Jim the key of the tent with a profound bow.
"Now," said Jim, "drop a match on the floor."