killer, and I don't aim to begin now."

"Sure, I know how tender-hearted you are, Chet. I'm that way, too.
I'm awful sorry for myself when I get in trouble. That's why I tapped
you on the cocoanut with the end of my quirt. That's why I'd let you
have about three bullets from old Tried and True here right in the back
if you tried to make your getaway. But, as you say, I haven't a thing
against you. I'll promise you one of the nicest funerals Washington
County ever had."

The little man laughed feebly. "You will have your joke, Dave, but I
know mighty well you wouldn't shoot me. You got no legal right to
detain me."

"I'd have to wrastle that out with the coroner afterward, I expect,"
replied Dingwell casually. "Not thinking of leaving me, are you?"

"Oh, no! No. Not at all. I was just kinder talking."

It was seven miles from Lonesome Park to Battle Butte. Fox kept up a
kind of ingratiating whine whenever the road was so rough that the
horses had to fall into a walk. He was not sure whether when it came
to the pinch he could summon nerve to try a bolt, but he laid himself
out to establish friendly relations. Dingwell, reading him like a
primer, cocked a merry eye at the man and grinned.

About a mile from Battle Butte they caught up with another rider, a
young woman of perhaps twenty. The dark, handsome face that turned to
see who was coming would have been a very attractive one except for its
look of sulky rebellion. From the mop of black hair tendrils had