As much about the jug with the brown neck and handle as concerned Dick, and all he knew of the bottles in the haystack, while Jim smoked, and swung the foot which did not rest upon the floor, and listened.
"Sounds like Dick, all right," he passed judgment, when Ford had finished.

"He counted on your falling for the jug--and oh, my! It was a beautiful plant.

I'd sure hate to have anybody sing 'Yield not to temptation' at me, if a gallon jug of the real stuff fell into my arms and nobody was looking." He eyed Ford queerly.

"You've got quite a reputation--" he ventured.
"Well, I earned it," Ford observed laconically.
"Dick banked on it--I'd stake my whole stack of blues on that.

And after you'd torn up the ranch, and pitched the fragments into the gulch, he'd hold the last trump, with all high cards to keep the lead.