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“That’s Mr. Majors at the desk,” he informed, undertone, to Dave, on the threshold. And—“How do you do, Mr. Waddell?” he said respectfully, as another man was brushing past them.

“How-do-do, Billy,” responded the man. “Back again, are you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, take care of yourself, my boy,” and Mr. Waddell hastened away, as if on matters important.

“He’s the third partner,” whispered Billy. “But you don’t see him very often. Mr. Majors and Mr. Russell seem to run the plains part of the business.”

Mr. Waddell had been a stoutly-built man, with florid complexion and full, heavy face inclining to jaw. Mr. Majors was almost his opposite, being a rather tall man, although strongly built, with a kindly, sober face and a long brown beard. As Billy and Dave approached his desk he glanced up.

“How do you do, Mr. Majors?” said Billy, hat in hand.

“How are you, Billy?”

“This is my friend Dave Scott, Mr. Majors. He’s looking for a job. He’s been staying at my house since we came in last month with Lew Simpson’s train from Laramie. I’m going out again in a day or so, and he wants to get to work. We saw Mr. Russell up at the fort, and he said for us to come down here to see you.”