Steele swung on his heel and went out, crossing the street to the chop house whose triangle hung from the wooden awning at the front door.
"Got anything to eat?" he asked shortly of the greasy looking man in shirt sleeves who also was idling behind a newspaper. "For a man named Steele?"
"Nope," he was cheerfully informed. And the greasy gentleman lowered his paper to look over it with frank interest at the man who was already known widely hereabouts as an individual who had incurred the Queen's blighting displeasure.
"Bought out by Miss Corliss?"
"Yep."
Steele had forgotten his hunger, for a little undecided whether to be irritated or amused. In the end his old, wide grin came back to him, and he went out with the chop house man staring after him wonderingly. Thereafter it required but fifteen minutes to assure him that Beatrice had made it impossible for him to buy provisions or tools or any sort of supplies in the Junction.
Puzzling over the novel situation, finding it both ridiculous and yet quite to be looked for from Beatrice Corliss and her almost inexhaustible wealth, he walked down the shimmering railroad tracks to the station, turning in to learn when the next San Francisco-bound train was expected. Swinging about the corner of the building he came face to face with Joe Embry and a lean, long, moustached individual in shirt sleeves and vest and battered hat. At the sound of a footstep the lean man whirled suddenly, his keen grey eyes alert.
