“This fella can fix engines, Boss,” said the leader of the boat’s crew. “We got stuck at Main Haven and he fixed the trouble in a jiffy. He’s outa work and I thought——”
Mr. Nevens, searching the G-man with an appraising stare, seemed satisfied as he interrupted the speaker with, “—Yes, we can find work for a man who knows how to tend marine engines!”
“Fine,” said Mr. Sandborn, “and what is the pay for the job?”
“Enough to satisfy you, Mister!” Nevens replied. “What else can you do?”
“Anything that’s wanted.”
“Anything, can mean a lot,” Nevens said, leading the way to the cabin. “Let’s talk this thing over.”
In his private office he seated himself comfortably in his chair and, poising his feet upon his desk, lit a black cigar, and surveyed Mr. Sandborn more carefully than even before. He saw before him a medium built man with regular features of a determined nature and a habit of holding his hands as if ready to sling them up in attack or defence. That he might prove a valuable addition to his staff, Mr. Nevens, alias Cowboy Nevada, felt rather certain and he was toying with an idea. The idea involved big things and moves must not be too fast. Disaster might well result!
“Just who are you?” queried Nevada, quietly, his eyes watching the G-man’s face intently through a whisp of smoke from the cigar.
“The name is ‘Happy’ Gallagher,” responded the G-man, promptly. “I was born and reared in Kansas City, cut my teeth on a rod, and done some time in a jail or two till I wised up to the racket.”
“Just what is your racket, Gallagher?” Nevada asked, softly.