The general manager’s face fell. “Nothing. I couldn’t. No good.” He stretched his long and powerful arms and gazed at them sorrowfully. “Old lumber, Boss. They would n’t take me.” He touched his injured eye.
“No!” exclaimed Jeremy. “That’s tough. Are you sure?”
“Tried it. No go.”
“Tried it?” returned Jeremy, surprised. “How? When?”
“Went to Doc Summerfield. He’s been down on the border. Knows the game. He said no go right away. Not a chance.”
“So you did that,” mused Jeremy with growing wonder. “You never peeped to me about it.”
“Did n’t want to bother you.”
“I’m mighty sorry for you, Andy,” said his chief. “But I’m mighty glad for The Guardian. We need you here. And we’re going to need you worse.”
“How’s that?” The other looked up with swift suspicion.
“Andy, you could take hold and run The Guardian if—”