look like a dove?"

"Not at present," laughed Foy.

"Well, I didn't like it--nobody would. I see there was a hen on, I
knew the lay of the ground from looking after my horse. So I
clomped off to bed, got my good old Excalibur gun--full name X.L.V.
Caliber--slipped off my boots, tippytoed down the back stairs like a
Barred Rock cat, oozed in by the side door--and here I be! I overheard
their pleasant little plan to do you. I meant to do the big rescue
act, but you mobilize too quick for me. All the same, maybe it's as
well I chipped in, because--take a look at them cartridges in your
gun, will you? Your own gun--the one they borrowed from you."

Foy twisted a bullet from a cartridge. There was no powder. The four
men on the floor looked unhappy under his thoughtful eye.

"Nice little plant--what? Do we kill 'em?" said Pringle cheerfully. "I
don't know the rules well enough to break them. What was the big idea?
Was they vexed at you, son?"

"It would seem so," said Foy, smiling. "We had a little war here a
spell back. I suspect they wanted to stir it up again for political
effect. Election this fall."

"And you were not in their party? I see!" said Pringle, nodding
intelligently, "Well, they sure had it fixed to make your side lose
one vote--fixed good and proper. The Ben-boy was to let your right
hand loose and the Joe-boy was to shoot you as you pulled your gun.
Why, if you had lived to make a statement your own story woulda mighty