rest of the men; we'll forget all about that. It's just Munford we're after."
"Why don't you get him, then?" said Burton curtly.
"We're going to," the man replied, with a nasty laugh. "We're goin' to, all right. It's a fair deal. You're on, eh? Pete said you'd jump at the chance to sit in. We want you to fire him."
"That all I'm to do?" asked Burton, quietly.
"Sure, that's all there is to it—except this."
Munford's hand closed on his companion's arm in a tight, spasmodic grip as Pete's emissary produced a wad of bills and began to peel off the outer ones.
"Three hundred plunks," said the man, extending the money he had abstracted from the roll to Burton. "Pretty good for just firin' a man we've been lookin' for you to fire for the last week, anyway. Besides, there's been some talk down at headquarters about you not bein' able to handle your men, and about them gettin' someone that can. Pete says not to bother about that, he'll fix it for you. Here, take the money."
"Suppose I fired him," said Burton, slowly, "where'd he go?"
"What do you care where he goes, so long as you get rid of him?"
"He couldn't go West," went on Burton, paying no attention to the other's remark; "so he'd have to go East—that's Big Cloud—and murder!" He turned fiercely, savagely on the man. "You dirty, low-lived hound!" he flashed. "You offer me three hundred dollars to murder a man, do you? You
