“By Gar！ you’ve got an Irish tongue in your head anyhow，” criedthe saloon-keeper， not quite certain whether to humour thisaudacious visitor or to stand upon his dignity.
“So you are good enough to pass my appearance？”
“Sure，” said McMurdo.
“And you were told to see me？”
“I was.”
“And who told you？”
“Brother Scanlan of Lodge 341， Vermissa. I drink your healthCouncillor， and to our better acquaintance.” He raised a glass withwhich he had been served to his lips and elevated his little fingeras he drank it.
McGinty， who had been watching him narrowly， raised his thickblack eyebrows. “Oh， it’s like that， is it？” said he. “I’ll have to looka bit closer into this， Mister—”
“McMurdo.”
“A bit closer， Mr. McMurdo； for we don’t take folk on trust in theseparts， nor believe all we’re told neither. Come in here for a moment，behind the bar.”
There was a small room there， lined with barrels. McGintycarefully closed the door， and then seated himself on one of them，biting thoughtfully on his cigar and surveying his companion withthose disquieting eyes. For a couple of minutes he sat in completesilence. McMurdo bore the inspection cheerfully， one hand in hiscoat pocket， the other twisting his brown moustache. SuddenlyMcGinty stooped and produced a wicked-looking revolver.
“See here， my joker，” said he， “if I thought you were playing anygame on us， it would be short work for you.”
“This is a strange welcome，” McMurdo answered with somedignity， “for the Bodymaster of a lodge of Freemen to give to astranger brother.”
“Ay， but it’s just that same that you have to prove，” said McGinty，“and God help you if you fail！ Where were you made？”
“Lodge 29， Chicago.”
“When？”
“June 24， 1872.”
“What Bodymaster？”
“James H. Scott.”
“Who is your district ruler？”
“Bartholomew Wilson.”
“Hum！ You seem glib enough in your tests. What are you doinghere？”
“Working， the same as you—but a poorer job.”
“You have your back answer quick enough.”
“Yes， I was always quick of speech.”
“Are you quick of action？”
“I have had that name among those that knew me best.”
“Well， we may try you sooner than you think. Have you heardanything of the lodge in these parts？”
“I’ve heard that it takes a man to be a brother.”
“True for you， Mr. McMurdo. Why did you leave Chicago？”
“I’m damned if I tell you that！”
McGinty opened his eyes. He was not used to being answered insuch fashion， and it amused him. “Why won’t you tell me？”
“Because no brother may tell another a lie.”
“Then the truth is too bad to tell？”
“You can put it that way if you like.”
“See here， mister， you can’t expect me， as Bodymaster， to passinto the lodge a man for whose past he can’t answer.”
McMurdo looked puzzled. Then he took a worn newspapercutting from an inner pocket.
“You wouldn’t squeal on a fellow？” said he.
“I’ll wipe my hand across your face if you say such words to me！”
cried McGinty hotly.
“You are right， Councillor，” said McMurdo meekly. “I shouldapologize. I spoke without thought. Well， I know that I am safe inyour hands. Look at that clipping.”
McGinty glanced his eyes over the account of the shooting ofone Jonas Pinto， in the Lake Saloon， Market Street， Chicago， inthe New Year week of 1874.
“Your work？” he asked， as he handed back the paper.
McMurdo nodded.
“Why did you shoot him？”
“I was helping Uncle Sam to make dollars. Maybe mine were notas good gold as his， but they looked as well and were cheaper tomake. This man Pinto helped me to shove the queer—”
“To do what？”
“Well， it means to pass the dollars out into circulation. Then hesaid he would split. Maybe he did split. I didn’t wait to see. I justkilled him and lighted out for the coal country.”
“Why the coal country？”
“ ‘Cause I’d read in the papers that they weren’t too particular inthose parts.”
McGinty laughed. “You were first a coiner and then a murderer，and you came to these parts because you thought you’d bewelcome.”
“That’s about the size of it，” McMurdo answered.
“Well， I guess you’ll go far. Say， can you make those dollars yet？”
McMurdo took half a dozen from his pocket. “Those neverpassed the Philadelphia mint，” said he.
“You don’t say！” McGinty held them to the light in his enormoushand， which was hairy as a gorilla’s. “I can see no difference. Gar！
you’ll be a mighty useful brother， I’m thinking！ We can do with abad man or two among us， Friend McMurdo： for there are timeswhen we have to take our own part. We’d soon be against the wallif we didn’t shove back at those that were pushing us.”
“Well， I guess I’ll do my share of shoving with the rest of theboys.”
“You seem to have a good nerve. You didn’t squirm when I shovedthis gun at you.”
“It was not me that was in danger.”
“Who then？”
“It was you， Councillor.” McMurdo drew a cocked pistol fromthe side pocket of his pea-jacket. “I was covering you all the time.
I guess my shot would have been as quick as yours.”
“By Gar！” McGinty flushed an angry red and then burst into aroar of laughter. “Say， we’ve had no such holy terror come to handthis many a year. I reckon the lodge will learn to be proud of you....
Well， what the hell do you want？ And can’t I speak alone with agentleman for five minutes but you must butt in on us？”
The bartender stood abashed. “I’m sorry， Councillor， but it’s TedBaldwin. He says he must see you this very minute.”
The message was unnecessary； for the set， cruel face of the manhimself was looking over the servant’s shoulder. He pushed thebartender out and closed the door on him.
“So，” said he with a furious glance at McMurdo， “you got here first，did you？ I’ve a word to say to you， Councillor， about this man.”
“Then say it here and now before my face，” cried McMurdo.
“I’ll say it at my own time， in my own way.”
“Tut！ Tut！” said McGinty， getting off his barrel. “This will neverdo. We have a new brother here， Baldwin， and it’s not for us to greethim in such fashion. Hold out your hand， man， and make it up！”