"I ain't particular about killin' females," the Ramblin' Kid objected,
"besides, we ain't got no dynamite."

"Send them a telegram and say Old Heck's dead and not to come," Bert
Lilly volunteered.

"Aw, you blamed idiot, they'd come anyhow then, just to attend the
funeral--"

"I got an idea," Chuck Slithers exclaimed; it's a telegram too. Send
them one C.O.D. in care of the train that will get to Eagle Butte the
twenty-first and tell them we've all got the smallpox and we're sorry
but everybody's dangerously sick and to please answer!"

"That might work," Parker said; "they'd be mighty near sure not to want
to catch it."

"We'll try it," Old Heck agreed. "Chuck wants to ride over to Eagle
Butte anyway and he can have the depot agent send it and wait for a
reply."

"Go get your horse ready, Chuck," Parker said, "we'll write it while
you're saddlin' up!"

Chuck hurried to the corral while Old Heck went into the house for
pencil and writing-paper. Parker and the cowboys moved in a group to the
shade of the porch in front of the house.

"What'll we tell them?" Old Heck asked, reappearing with writing
materials. "Here, Parker, you write it."