The contractor scratched his head.
"That fellow sure can shoot . . . but it ain't half as queer as the way he didn't want to."
Tressa, hearing Conrad's voice, tripped to the door, her eyes aglow with a shy eagerness.
"Evening, Tressa!" The foreman swept off his hat. "Fine evening for rifle practice."
"I know it don't matter about me," grunted Torrance, "but two feet at a range of twelve hundred yards is cutting it fine for Tressa."
But Conrad only smiled his unconcern.
"At least you might be interested in the horses," Torrance grumbled.
"Another bunch gone. That's your business."
"So that's the cuss who's been robbing us."
"Such a clever lad, he is!" sneered Torrance. "You could see through a pail with the bottom kicked out of it. He'll keep on robbing us, for all you're doing to stop him. Right before our eyes he gets away with it. What do you think I pay you a hundred a month for?"
"Because you can't get any one else to do half the work half as well at twice the price," grinned the foreman.