he came from Texas."

"He was a Texican," corroborated one of the other men. "I rode with him
considerable."

"What enemies did he have?" asked Buck.

But it developed that, as far as these men knew, Jim Starr had had no
enemies. He was a quiet sort of a fellow. He had been to town once or
twice. Of course he might have made an enemy, but it was not likely; he
had always behaved himself. Somebody would have known of any trouble----

"Maybe somebody followed him from Texas."

"More likely the usual local work," Buck interrupted. "This man Starr
ever met up with Old Man Hooper or Hooper's men?"

But here was another impasse. Starr had been over on the Slick Rock ever
since his arrival. I could have thrown some light on the matter,
perhaps, but new thoughts were coming to me and I kept silence.

Shortly Buck Johnson went out. His departure loosened tongues, among
them mine.

"I don't see why you stand for this old _hombre_ if he's as bad as you
say," I broke in. "Why don't some of you brave young warriors just
naturally pot him?"

And that started a new line of discussion that left me even more
thoughtful than before. I knew these men intimately. There was not a