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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76983 ***
+
+
+
+                       Skeeter Bill Comes to Town
+
+                       A novelet by W. C. Tuttle
+
+
+    This salty seven-footer heads for Yellow Butte to celebrate a
+    kid’s birthday--and does some plumb fast shooting on the way!
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+
+William Harrison Sarg, known as “Skeeter Bill,” leaned against the
+bar of the only saloon in Temple Rock, and considered the fly-specked
+back-bar. Skeeter was at least seven feet tall, in his high-heels and
+sombrero. He had wide shoulders, which tapered sharply to a wasp-like
+waist and a long pair of skinny legs, encased in tight-fitting, faded
+overalls. He wore a colorless shirt, a wispy, red handkerchief around
+his long neck, the ends held tight with a blue poker-chip. Around his
+thin waist was a home-made, form-fitting gun-belt, and his holstered
+Colt .45 hung low along his thigh.
+
+Skeeter Bill was not handsome. His face was long, thin, with high
+cheek bones, and a gash-like mouth, and eyes that were just a little
+green tinted. He was not handsome, but he looked efficient. A fat
+bartender, one damp lock of hair plastered down over one eyebrow,
+looked questioningly at the tall cowpoke. Skeeter shook his head.
+
+“If it was ice-cold I’d take more,” he said quietly, “but I jist cain’t
+go more’n three bottles of luke-warm pop.”
+
+“Yuh’re the only pop-drinker I’ve met,” said the bartender. “Yuh won’t
+never git happy on that stuff.”
+
+“No,” agreed Skeeter, “nor unhappy, either, my friend. How are things
+these days in Road-Runner Valley?”
+
+“Oh, all right,” replied the bartender. “You’ve been there?”
+
+“Not for a couple of years. Been down in the Panhandle, where I didn’t
+hear much news of this country. You been down there lately?”
+
+“Couple months ago. I worked there for a year, tendin’ bar in the
+Seven-Up at Yellow Butte.”
+
+“Yea-ah? I used to know Buck Hadley. He still own it?”
+
+“Not now. It belongs to Slim Lacey.”
+
+“Slim Lacey?” Skeeter stared at the bartender. “Yuh say that Slim Lacey
+owns the Seven-Up?”
+
+“Well, he did a month ago, I know.”
+
+Skeeter shoved his hat back and scratched his forehead. He seemed a
+little astonished.
+
+He said: “Well, mebbe it’s all right. You’d prob’ly know Hooty Edwards.”
+
+“No, I didn’t, but I’ve heard of him. He left there before I went to
+Yellow Butte.”
+
+Skeeter cuffed his hat sideways on his head, leaned his elbows on the
+bar and scowled at the fat bartender.
+
+“You mean that Hooty Edwards ain’t down there no more?” he asked
+incredulously.
+
+The bartender shook his head. “Didn’t you know about him?”
+
+“Know what about him?” asked Skeeter quickly.
+
+“That he went to the pen for twenty years.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Skeeter’s head and shoulders sagged momentarily, and he blinked in
+amazement.
+
+“You ain’t jokin’--I hope you are, Mister,” he said huskily.
+
+“I wouldn’t joke on a thing like that. He’s been gone quite a while,
+they told me. He wrecked the bank in Yellow Butte. Never did have
+another one.”
+
+“I’m a sea-serpent’s sister!” whispered Skeeter. “Tell me what yuh know
+about it, will yuh?”
+
+The bartender told him that “Hooty” Edwards had forced the banker
+and his wife from their home to the bank. There he had compelled the
+banker to open the vault. Then he tied them both up and took his own
+time in looting the vault. It was close to morning, and the sheriff,
+coming from an all-night poker game, looked into the bank window and
+saw moonlight shining through the open doorway at the rear of the
+room.
+
+He ran around to the rear of the building, just as the robber was riding
+away. They exchanged shots, and the sheriff said he scored a hit, but
+the man got away.
+
+Later in the day they found Hooty Edwards sprawled beside a trail
+near his own ranchhouse, his white horse tangled up in the brush near
+him. The bandit had ridden a white horse. Edwards still had the black
+mask around his neck. The doctor said he had been shot and would have
+eventually bled to death, if they hadn’t found him.
+
+Skeeter listened to the whole tale, his face a mask of his feelings.
+
+“Yuh see,” remarked the bartender, “he wasn’t able to prove no alibi.
+His wife said he left home after supper, comin’ to Yellow Butte. Hooty
+said he didn’t know what happened. He had a few drinks in Yellow Butte,
+but everythin’ is a blank after that, except that he remembers gettin’
+on his horse. They gave him twenty years--but they didn’t get the money
+back. They say he cached it, but he swore he didn’t remember what he
+done.”
+
+“He was married,” said Skeeter slowly, “and had two kids.”
+
+“Yeah, I’ve seen ’em; a boy and a girl.”
+
+“The boy,” said Skeeter huskily, “is named William S. Edwards. They
+named him after me, Bill Sarg. He’ll be twelve years of age in a few
+days, and I was aimin’ to help him celebrate his birthday. Came all
+the way from Texas to do that. Yuh see, he’s the only kid that ever
+was named after me.”
+
+“That’s hard luck, Sarg. So you’re Skeeter Bill Sarg. I’ve heard of you.
+They say you can drop a dollar with yore right hand from yore hip, draw
+yore gun and hit the dollar before it hits the ground.”
+
+“I have,” nodded Skeeter soberly, “and I’m also shy the little toe on
+my right foot. They used to say that I had more brains in my right hand
+than I have in my head, too. Mebbe it’s ’cause I use it more. I wonder
+what Mrs. Edwards is doin’ to support her family.”
+
+“Worked in a restaurant, when I was there, slingin’ hash. She’s a pretty
+woman, I’ll say that.”
+
+“She’s awful nice, too,” said Skeeter. “I wouldn’t like to hear anybody
+say she ain’t. And that kid was named after me, too. Well, I reckon I’ll
+be movin’ on. See yuh later.”
+
+“Are you goin’ down to see the kid, Sarg?”
+
+Skeeter nodded. “After all,” he replied, “no matter what happened, he’ll
+have his twelfth birthday in a few days.”
+
+“Tell him hello for me,” said the bartender. “Jist say that Fatty, the
+bartender, said Happy Birthday.”
+
+“We both appreciate that,” said Skeeter, smiling faintly. “I’ll tell
+him.”
+
+A pall of dust hung over the town of Yellow Butte as Skeeter Bill
+rode in. They were loading cattle at the big corrals down at the
+railroad tracks. Yellow Butte was the shipping point for all of
+Road-Runner Valley. There was nothing beautiful about Yellow Butte,
+with its crooked, narrow streets, sandblasted signs and false-fronted
+buildings.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Lazily Skeeter Bill dismounted and tied his horse at a hitchrack which
+was mercifully in the shade of the Seven-Up Saloon. On the other side of
+the street Skeeter could see the faded and scarred gold lettering on a
+large window, BANK OF YELLOW BUTTE. It was used now as a store-room for
+the general merchandise store.
+
+Skeeter Bill was familiar with all of Yellow Butte, even those places of
+business whose signs had long since faded out. He went into the Seven-Up
+Saloon. It was quite a large establishment, with gambling layouts along
+one side, and a long bar on the other. It smelled of stale beer and
+spilled liquor, but it was cool in there.
+
+Several men were at the long bar, and Skeeter recognized them at a
+glance--Sam Keenan, owner of the Tumbling K, Al Creedon, the big
+sheriff, Muddy Poole, his deputy and Slim Lacey who the bartender at
+Temple Rock had said was the new owner of the Seven-Up Saloon.
+
+Muddy Poole was the first to recognize Skeeter Bill in the subdued light
+of the room, and he emitted a yip of delight.
+
+“If it ain’t Old Skeet!” he exclaimed. “Welcome back among us!”
+
+“Hyah, Muddy,” grinned Skeeter Bill. “Gents, howdy.”
+
+They all shook hands with Skeeter, but not all were as enthusiastic as
+Muddy Poole, who said:
+
+“Where on earth did you drop from, Skeet?”
+
+“Oh, I just drifted in, Muddy. Thought I’d see what the old place looked
+like again. How’s everybody?”
+
+“Finer’n frawg-hair--mostly.”
+
+Skeeter looked curiously at Slim Lacey. When Skeeter Bill left Yellow
+Butte, Slim Lacey was a down-at-the-heel swamper in a little saloon at
+the other end of town, and without a decent shirt to his back, but now
+he was wearing white silk shirts, broadcloth pants and patent-leather
+shoes. Slim’s smile was always sickly, and it hadn’t changed much.
+
+Skeeter Bill said, “How yuh comin’, Slim?”
+
+“Fine, Skeet. Yuh’re lookin’ good. Glad to see yuh back. Have a drink?”
+
+“You never knowed Skeet to take a drink,” reminded Muddy.
+
+“Thank yuh,” smiled Skeeter Bill. “You’ve got a memory, Muddy.”
+
+“It ain’t hard to remember them what don’t drink, Skeet.”
+
+“Well, I’ve got to go back to the corral,” said Keenan, placing his
+glass on the bar. “We’re shippin’ today, Skeet.”
+
+“Yeah, I saw the dust in the air, Sam. How’s the market?”
+
+“Just fair. It’s always down when I’ve got stuff to ship.”
+
+Muddy Poole walked outside with Skeeter Bill. Muddy knew of the
+friendship between Skeeter Bill and Hooty Edwards.
+
+“Do yuh know about Hooty?” asked the deputy quietly.
+
+Skeeter Bill nodded. “I saw Fatty, the bartender, in Temple Rock, and
+he told me about Hooty. First I’d heard, Muddy. It shore hurt to hear
+a thing like that, don’tcha know it?”
+
+“Hurt me, too,” said Muddy. “Hooty was fine. Margie is workin’ down in
+the New York Chop House, doin’ her best to keep the kids goin’. We’ve
+tried to help her, Skeet, but she’s proud.”
+
+“Yeah, I bet she is. Whatever became of the Circle E, after they sent
+Hooty away?”
+
+“Well, the law took it over for the bank. Yuh see, the bank was busted
+flat, and so was most folks around here. Yuh never can sell a thing
+like that for what it’s worth. In fact, nobody was in shape to buy it,
+but Sam Keenan finally bought it for about two-bits on the dollar.”
+
+Skeeter Bill nodded slowly. “I can understand that, Muddy. But how come
+Slim Lacey owns the Seven-Up? When I left here he didn’t have a cent.”
+
+“Well, it does sound kind of funny, but it jist goes to prove that
+yuh never can tell which way a dill-pickle will squirt. Buck Hadley
+wanted to sell out and go back East, and Slim got himself a idea. He
+was tendin’ bar for Buck at the time. So Slim borrowed money to pay
+down on the place, and paid it off so much a month. Maybe it ain’t
+all paid off yet, but he’s doin’ all right. Slim shore turned over a
+new leaf.”
+
+“I’m glad to see him gettin’ ahead,” said Skeeter Bill. “Well, I’ll be
+headin’ for some food, I reckon, Muddy. See yuh later.”
+
+Margie Edwards dropped a tray of dishes flat on the floor, and stood
+there, staring at Skeeter Bill, ignoring the broken glass and crockery.
+Only a few people were in the little restaurant at the time. The crash
+was terrific, bringing the cook-proprietor, Shorty Hale, from the
+kitchen on the run. He blurted:
+
+“My gawsh, can’t yuh even--” and then he stopped, staring up at Skeeter
+Bill.
+
+“Howdy, Shorty,” said Skeeter calmly.
+
+“Well--huh--howdy! Skeeter Bill Sarg!”
+
+“I’m sorry,” said the woman quietly. “It--it slipped.”
+
+“That’s all right,” assured Shorty. “I’ll get a broom.”
+
+Margie Edwards looked at Skeeter and down at the mess on the floor. She
+said, “I’ll be off shift in about ten minutes, Skeeter.”
+
+“Sorry I scared yuh,” he smiled slowly.
+
+“You didn’t. You shocked me, Skeeter.”
+
+Shorty came back with a broom and a dust-pan.
+
+Skeeter said, “Shorty, I’d like to have about six eggs, sunny side up,
+and a lot of coffee. The pie can wait until I’m through.”
+
+“Comin’ right up,” grinned Shorty. “My, my, you ain’t changed a bit,
+Skeeter. Six eggs and coffee--and the pie awaits. Set down with him,
+Miz Edwards, I’ll do the waitin’ this time.”
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+
+Less than an hour later, Skeeter sat with Mrs. Edwards on the porch of
+their little house, which was only an unpainted shack, discussing the
+misfortunes of the Edwards family. Margie Edwards was still a pretty
+woman, in spite of her hard work, trying to keep her family together.
+The two children were in school.
+
+“I hear from Hooty almost every week,” she told Skeeter. “He’s grown
+bitter.”
+
+“If Hooty pulled that job, why wouldn’t he be bitter?” asked Skeeter.
+
+“He didn’t!” declared Margie flatly. “I don’t care what the law says.
+Everybody was against him, because the breaking of the bank just about
+broke everybody in the valley. They took the ranch and all the stock,
+trying to get something out of it.”
+
+“Did Hooty need money, Margie?”
+
+The woman nodded. “He did, but only to expand. Hooty wanted to raise
+better cattle, and breeding stock is expensive. The bank wouldn’t help
+him. They said he had hare-brained ideas.”
+
+Skeeter sighed and wiped his forehead with a sleeve.
+
+“I can’t figure out why Hooty didn’t know what happened.”
+
+“He couldn’t either, Skeeter. He says he only took three drinks in the
+Seven-Up Saloon that night, but he barely remembers getting on his
+horse. After that, it was a blank, he says.”
+
+“At the trial,” said Skeeter, “did any testimony show that Hooty had
+only three drinks?”
+
+Mrs. Edwards nodded. “Yes, it did. Slim Lacey was tending bar at that
+time, and he said Hooty didn’t drink enough to be drunk. He didn’t think
+he had more than three drinks.”
+
+“Slim Lacey must have done pretty darn well,” remarked Skeeter. “He was
+broke when I left here.”
+
+Mrs. Edwards nodded. “I guess he was. I never speak to him. One day he
+got fresh with me, and Hooty knocked out his front teeth. If you look
+close, he has a bridge for two front teeth.”
+
+“I’d like to have seen that!” Skeeter Bill smiled.
+
+Mrs. Edwards admitted that she wasn’t making much money and that Shorty
+Hale wasn’t the best boss on earth.
+
+She said, “He was all ready to explode over the broken dishes, when he
+saw you, Skeeter. He’d have probably fired me on the spot.”
+
+“Yeah, I reckon so.” Skeeter grinned. “Sometimes I believe I have a
+calmin’ influence on folks, Margie.”
+
+They sat there and talked, until the two children came home.
+
+Nellie was nine, a slip of a girl, with big, blue eyes, looking very
+much like her mother, but Bill was husky, redheaded, and had eyes like
+his father. Nellie was shy of this tall stranger, but Bill let out a
+whoop. He remembered Skeeter Bill, and shook hands with him.
+
+“Gee!” he said, “It’s kind of like home, Mom. Where have you been, Mr.
+Sarg?”
+
+“Down in Texas, Bill, followin’ dogies. Yuh’re sure growin’ up fast. How
+old are yuh, Bill?”
+
+“I’ll be twelve next Saturday.”
+
+“Yeah, that’s right. Twelve years old. Bill, I was the first outsider to
+poke a finger at yuh, don’tcha know it?”
+
+“Mom told me you was. We were talkin’ about you a while ago, kind of
+wonderin’ where you were. And now you’re here.”
+
+“Talkin’ about me?” marveled Skeeter Bill. “Well, I do know! Bill, what
+would yuh like to have for yore birthday?”
+
+Young Bill thought it over soberly.
+
+Finally he said, “If I could have just what I want, I’d take--my dad.”
+
+Skeeter looked at Bill’s mother, and there were tears in her eyes. No
+one had any comments, until Skeeter said quietly:
+
+“Yeah, I reckon we’d all like that, Bill. Well, I guess I’ll kind of
+drift back and see who I can talk to. Yuh never know who is glad to
+see yuh back. I’ll see yuh some more, folks.”
+
+“You are welcome to stay here with us, Skeeter,” said Mrs. Edwards
+quickly. “Our home is your home.”
+
+“That’s shore sweet of yuh, Margie,” he said soberly. “No, I couldn’t do
+that. But I’ll be around.”
+
+Skeeter Bill picked up his big hat and went slowly up the dirt street.
+
+Young Bill said, “Mom, he’s an awful lot like Dad.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Margie nodded thoughtfully and went into the house.
+
+Nellie said, “Gee, Bill, is that the man you was named after?”
+
+“That’s right, Sis. I hope I grow up with long legs and big hands like
+he’s got. They say he can take a mean steer and stand him right on his
+head.”
+
+“Why?” asked Nellie.
+
+“Aw, you’re just a girl--you wouldn’t understand. Let’s go in and help
+Mom get supper.”
+
+Skeeter Bill wandered up to the Seven-Up Saloon. Few people were in the
+place, and Slim Lacey was sitting at a card-table, reading a newspaper.
+He nodded to Skeeter, who went over and sat down with Slim.
+
+“How does the old place look to yuh?” asked Slim, folding the paper and
+tossing it aside.
+
+“Same as ever. Slim, I want to ask yuh a few questions. I heard about
+Hooty Edwards in Temple Rock. On that night, how many drinks did Hooty
+take in here?”
+
+Slim smiled shortly. “Skeeter, I can’t swear to it but I think he took
+about three. Mebbe it was four. But no more.”
+
+“Whisky?”
+
+“Yeah. I don’t believe he ever drank anythin’ else.”
+
+“Any special kind of whisky, Slim?”
+
+“No. Just bar-whisky, out of a barrel. What’s this all about?”
+
+Skeeter looked thoughtfully at Slim for several moments.
+
+“Slim,” he said confidentially, “I’m goin’ to prove that Hooty never
+robbed that bank.”
+
+“How?” asked Slim blankly.
+
+“A lot of other folks would like to know, too, Slim. Keep this under
+yore hat, will yuh? I don’t want to be interrupted in my job. You’ll
+know later, but keep it dark, Slim. See yuh later.”
+
+Skeeter went over to the general store, where he bought a package of
+tobacco and cigarette papers. Then he sat down on the shaded porch to
+enjoy a smoke and commune with his own soul.
+
+“Bill Sarg,” he told himself, “yuh’re crazy, but it’s pleasant. If I
+can make enough people believe that I know somethin’, I might find out
+more’n I know now. Anyway, one more lie won’t hurt my immortal soul, I
+reckon.”
+
+He was sitting there when a lone rider came into town, started to draw
+up at the Seven-Up Saloon, but swung around and came over to the hotel
+hitchrack. Skeeter Bill grinned slowly. The rider was Fuzzy Davis, owner
+of the Bar D spread, and one of the most explosive characters Skeeter
+had ever known.
+
+Fuzzy was only a few inches over five feet tall, and in wet weather he
+might weigh a hundred pounds but that hundred pounds was all fighting
+man. He wore a five, triple A boot, but his .45 was as big as anybody
+carried on their hip.
+
+He tied his horse, swore a little under his breath as he stepped up on
+the sidewalk, and then he saw Skeeter Bill. He didn’t say anything at
+once. He blinked, looked away, adjusted his neckerchief and cleared his
+throat raspingly. Then he looked at Skeeter once more.
+
+“Mebbe,” he remarked quietly, “it’s the heat, and ag’in mebbe it’s my
+general run-down condition but doggone it--you look like somebody I’ve
+known. Set my mind at rest, will yuh?”
+
+“Hyah yuh, Fuzzy,” Skeeter Bill said with a grin.
+
+“You ole _pelicano_!” snorted Fuzzy. “You darned ole-- How are yuh,
+Skeet?”
+
+“Finer’n the down on a gnat, Fuzzy. Set down, you little anteater.
+How’ve yuh been, anyway?”
+
+Fuzzy sat down and drew a deep breath. “I’m terrible,” he whispered.
+“I’m mad, and when I’m mad, I’m terrible.”
+
+“You look fine, Fuzzy.”
+
+“That’s the whole trouble with me, Skeet. The finer I look, the worse I
+am. I’ll betcha that when I’m dead, they’ll say, ‘Well, well, there’s
+Fuzzy Adams, I never seen him look better.’”
+
+“You ain’t sick, are yuh?” asked Skeeter Bill.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Frowning, the pint-sized rancher shook his head. “Shucks, no! I’m mad,
+I tell yuh! Listen, will yuh? This mornin’ I went over to my big
+water-hole at Hangin’ Rock. You know the place. It’s fenced, along with
+about seven hundred acres. Water’s scarce around here, and there was
+only enough for my few dogies. Well, sir, some sticky-rope son-of-a-gun
+had tied off on about a quarter-mile of almost new barb-wire all over
+creation. My spring was almost dry and around it was every blasted
+Tomahawk, JML and Tumblin’ K cow in the valley.”
+
+“That,” remarked Skeeter Bill, “don’t sound like a joke.”
+
+“It wasn’t intended as no joke, Skeet. The ends was cut as slick as a
+whistle. I dunno if I’ll ever git that water-hole cleaned out and built
+up again. See why I’m mad? Yuh do? Well, yuh’re an observin’ sort of a
+feller, Skeet. How come yore back here, and where yuh been?”
+
+“Been down in Texas, Fuzzy. Yuh see, I--well, you knew that Hooty
+Edwards named his boy after me, didn’t yuh?”
+
+“Hooty,” replied Fuzzy, “was prone to do fool things. Go on with yore
+alibi, son.”
+
+“Well, I came back to help the kid celebrate his twelfth birthday,
+Fuzzy. And look what I found out!”
+
+“Yuh mean--about Hooty? Oh, yeah. Well, that was bad, Skeet. I’d have
+sworn that Hooty was honest, even if he did name his kid after you.
+Honest, but slightly ignorant, as yuh might say.”
+
+“I appreciate yore sympathy for the boy,” said Skeeter soberly. “But
+just what are yuh goin’ to do about that water-hole?”
+
+“Me? What am I goin’ to do about it? Huh! I’m goin’ to get the
+sheriff to swear out a warrant for Dan Houk. Me and him ain’t
+friends, yuh understand. We ain’t been for years. It’s jist like the
+big spit-in-the-crick to do a thing like that.”
+
+“Any proof, Fuzzy?”
+
+“There yuh go! Dad blame it, yuh’re as bad as Emmy! Proof? You’ll git
+sued for false charges. Dad blast it, ain’t this a free country? You
+stilt-legged gallinipper, comin’ up here from Texas, tellin’ me what
+to do! It’s my water-hole, ain’t it? Well, don’t set there and grin
+like a monkey with a stomach ache. Say somethin’.”
+
+“How is Aunt Emmy, Fuzzy?”
+
+“Well, that ain’t exactly changin’ the subject. She’s fine.”
+
+“Still actin’ as yore guardian angel, eh?”
+
+“She sniffs my breath, if that’s what yuh mean. Got the best nose for
+alcohol in the world. Her ma was scared by a bloodhound. Emmy is all
+right, except that she uses the Bible as a rule-book. She’s ag’in the
+Devil, I know that. I ain’t never knowed anybody so set against a
+entire stranger as she is ag’in the Devil. Pers’nally, I’d like to
+meet him and ask him how he stands it.”
+
+“Mebbe it’s the heat, Fuzzy. If yuh get hot enough yuh can stand
+anythin’. How’s the Bar D goin’, except for the water-hole?”
+
+“Well, pretty good, Skeet. Have yuh got a horse here? Yuh have? Go hang
+the hull on him, and we’ll be goin’.”
+
+“Yuh mean, yuh’re invitin’ me out to the ranch?” asked Skeeter.
+
+“I am not--I’m orderin’ yuh. Emmy’d never forgive me if I told her you
+was in town and didn’t come out with me. And you know what it means to
+not have forgiveness for yore sins, Skeet.”
+
+Skeeter Bill had known Aunt Emma Davis for years. Tall, rawboned,
+severe-looking, her wispy, colorless hair drawn tightly to a
+frizzly-looking knob at the back of her head, she stood on the porch
+of the Bar D ranchhouse, shading her eyes against the sun as Skeeter
+Bill and Fuzzy rode up to the porch.
+
+“Emmy,” called Fuzzy, “I found me a prodigal son.”
+
+Skeeter grinned, and Mrs. Davis leaned out further, clinging with one
+hand to a porch-post.
+
+“Skeeter Bill!” she half-screamed. “You--you git off that horse and come
+here! Where on earth did you come from?”
+
+“Aunt Emma, I’m fresh from Texas,” he grinned.
+
+“You’re fresh from any place you come from, young man. Unpin yourself
+from that saddle. My, my! You’re the last man I ever expected to see!
+I had a hunch that you two was the sheriff and deputy, comin’ in to
+tell me that Fuzzy was in jail or among the angels. Yuh see, he had a
+awful mad expression when he left here. No, I ain’t goin’ to kiss you,
+Skeeter. Fuzzy’s the only man I ever kissed, and don’t make any funny
+remarks about it. I realize that I’ve missed a lot in life.”
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+
+Fuzzy took the two horses down to the stable, while Skeeter Bill sat
+down on the shaded porch with Mrs. Davis. She didn’t ask questions but
+waited for Skeeter Bill to tell what he wanted to tell.
+
+“Yuh’re lookin’ fine, Aunt Emma,” remarked Skeeter.
+
+“I look just like I’ve looked for twenty years and it ain’t fine. Time
+don’t improve me, Skeeter. You ain’t changed.”
+
+“I’m so good-lookin’,” said Skeeter soberly, “that any change would
+have to be for the worse. I feel good, too. Yuh remember that Hooty
+and Margie named their boy after me, don’t yuh?”
+
+Aunt Emma nodded. “A terrible thing to wish upon a helpless young one,
+Skeeter, but go ahead.”
+
+“He’s twelve next Saturday. I asked him what he wanted for his birthday
+and he said he wanted his dad.”
+
+Mrs. Davis looked sharply at Skeeter Bill. “You wasn’t here, when
+Hooty Edwards--got in trouble, Skeeter. You don’t know what it meant
+to the folks of Road-Runner Valley. It busted the bank, and busted all
+of us. Most of us ain’t got back on our feet since--I know we ain’t. I
+feel awful sorry for Margie and her two kids, but I can’t feel sorry
+for Hooty.”
+
+“You feel sure that he done it, Aunt Emma?”
+
+She nodded quickly. “It’s a cinch, Skeeter. It didn’t take the jury five
+minutes all to agree that he was guilty. Even his own lawyer said they
+didn’t have a leg to stand on. It made it awful hard for Margie. Lots of
+folks act like she was guilty, too, but she didn’t have no hand in it.
+The two kids had a hard time in school, too. Most of their parents went
+busted in the deal, and it ain’t nice for kids, havin’ fingers pointed
+at ’em.”
+
+“Hooty was my friend, Aunt Emma,” said Skeeter slowly.
+
+“I know he was. You two was thicker than seven fingers on one hand but
+hard facts are hard facts, Skeeter.”
+
+“Yeah, I reckon so. What became of the banker and his wife?”
+
+“Oh, they moved away. Henry Weldon ran the bank for Phoenix men, and
+they closed it. Never opened since. The loot was close to a hundred
+thousand dollars, they said, but nobody ever found where Hooty cached
+it. He swore he didn’t know what he done.”
+
+Fuzzy came up from the stable and sat down, mopping his brow.
+
+“How’d yuh like to ride out to Hangin’ Rock Spring?” he asked. “I’ve got
+my two cow-pokes out there, tryin’ to bring order out of chaos, as Emmy
+says.”
+
+“I’d like to,” said Skeeter, rising.
+
+“Don’t be too late,” said Mrs. Davis. “I’ll have supper ready at six
+o’clock.”
+
+“I ain’t never been late to a meal out here, Aunt Emma,” Skeeter said
+with a grin, and added, “and, as a matter of fact, I ain’t had a good
+meal since.”
+
+On the way out there Fuzzy explained about water troubles in Road-Runner
+Valley.
+
+“I had to fence Hangin’ Rock,” he explained. “The other spreads have
+got more water than I have and they wanted to keep me from havin’ any.
+It was my property and not open range. The court decided that for me.
+But--well, you can see what happened.”
+
+“You and Dan Houk ain’t friends, eh?”
+
+“Never have been, Skeet. He’d like to run me out.”
+
+“They tell me that the bank took over Hooty’s place and sold it to Sam
+Keenan.”
+
+“Yeah, that’s right. The bank sold the stock, but sold the ranch to Sam.
+He got it dirt-cheap, too.”
+
+They found Len Riggs and Ollie Ashley, Fuzzy’s two cowpunchers, at the
+spring, working with shovels, trying to repair the damage that the
+cattle had made. Both of them remembered Skeeter Bill.
+
+Skeeter rode over and looked at the tangled wires, where they had been
+left. This was a real menace to range stock, no matter what the brand.
+He rode down along the fence-line, looking it over. Some of the posts
+had been set so loosely the wire had pulled them out.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Skeeter was sitting on his horse, studying the situation, when his gaze
+fell upon an object beside some trampled brush. He swung down, without
+dismounting, and picked it up. It was a rawhide honda with about a foot
+of hard-twist lariat rope still attached. Evidently a rope had snapped
+from the wires or a post and the honda had been flung aside where the
+rider had not been able to find it.
+
+Skeeter looked it over carefully, took off the piece of rope and put
+the honda in his pocket before riding back to the spring, where Fuzzy
+was working with the two cowboys.
+
+They had the spring pretty well cleaned out, but it would do little good
+without a fence. They tied their lariat ropes to the tangled wires, and
+managed to straighten them out. It was quite a job, getting the fence
+back where it would obstruct cattle from the spring and putting the wire
+back where it would not tangle cattle.
+
+“Who’s ridin’ for Dan Houk now?” asked Skeeter, as they rode back to the
+ranchhouse.
+
+“Ab Steele, Jim Grush and Andy Case,” replied Fuzzy.
+
+“Does Sam Keenan still ramrod his own outfit?”
+
+“No, he’s got a feller named Johnny Greer. He’s a good man, too.”
+
+“Looks to me like a turkey-necked gun-slinger from Texas,” declared Len
+Riggs. “Chaws his tobacco and his right hand is always crooked, ready to
+fit a gun-butt.”
+
+“Len is a natural-born fault-finder,” Fuzzy explained. “Why, he can’t
+even see any good in me.”
+
+“That,” said Skeeter, smiling, “is an intelligent state of bein’.”
+
+Len whooped and slapped his leg with a quirt. “That’s a good one!” he
+declared. “I still don’t like Johnny Greer.”
+
+“If he wasn’t all right, Sam Keenan wouldn’t have him, yuh can bet on
+that,” declared Fuzzy. “Sam’s particular.”
+
+Mrs. Davis had a big supper ready for them and they all did justice to
+it. Skeeter declared it was the first real meal he had eaten since he
+left Road-Runner Valley. He wanted to go back to town that evening but
+the Davises vetoed that at once.
+
+Skeeter Bill and Fuzzy went to Yellow Butte next day. Fuzzy wanted to
+talk with the sheriff about the vandalism, as he called it. Al Creedon,
+the sheriff, listened attentively, and said he’d see what could be done
+about it. While they were talking, Sam Keenan and his foreman, Johnny
+Greer, walked in. Keenan introduced Greer to Skeeter Bill, and Fuzzy
+told them what happened at Hanging Rock.
+
+“Well, did yuh get yore fence fixed again?” asked Keenan.
+
+“Yeah, after a fashion, Sam.”
+
+“Well, if yuh need more men, I’ll send some over, Fuzzy.”
+
+“No, we got it fixed pretty good. It’ll need a little more wire, but
+I’ve got that at the ranch.”
+
+“The only thing is,” remarked the sheriff, “will it be torn down again
+by the same persons? If they done it once--yuh know.”
+
+“Might be interestin’.” Skeeter Bill was grinning. “If they come back
+again, they might be surprised, ’cause I’m watchin’ that particular
+part of these United States.”
+
+“What do yuh mean, Skeet?” asked the sheriff curiously.
+
+“Just what I said, Sheriff. They hadn’t better come back and start
+grabbin’ wire again.”
+
+“That watchin’,” said the sheriff. “It might be a long job.”
+
+“Yeah, it might. But who has more time than I have? They don’t need to
+hurry. I like to loaf in the shade.”
+
+Skeeter Bill and Fuzzy left the office and went up the street. The
+little cattleman was grimly serious.
+
+He said, “What’d yuh tell ’em that for, Skeet?”
+
+“Well, it’s true, Fuzzy.”
+
+“True, shucks! You ain’t goin’ to watch that water-hole.”
+
+Skeeter stopped short and looked down at Fuzzy.
+
+“Who’s goin’ to stop me--you?” he asked.
+
+Fuzzy shoved his hands deep in his pockets and glared up at Skeeter
+Bill.
+
+“You ain’t tryin’ to antagonize me, are yuh?” he asked.
+
+“I’m tellin’ yuh to stay down on yore own level. Don’t contradict a
+grown man, Fuzzy. I’m goin’ to watch that water-hole.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Fuzzy cuffed his old sombrero over one eye and spat into the dusty
+street.
+
+“Well, if yuh are,” he said complainingly, “why tell everybody what
+yuh’re goin’ to do. That ain’t usin’ good sense.”
+
+“I don’t care who knows it, Fuzzy. That way, I won’t have to shoot some
+innocent friend of mine. I’d hate that.”
+
+“Yore logic,” declared Fuzzy, “is as uneven as a corduroy bridge over a
+rock-pile. If they know yo’re watchin’ ’em, they won’t come out there.”
+
+“And the fence don’t get torn down again,” added Skeeter.
+
+“Yuh’ve got me beat,” sighed Fuzzy. “When yuh left for Texas yuh was at
+least half-witted--but yuh deteriorated--badly.”
+
+Skeeter Bill’s eyes twinkled. “I like bein’ crazy,” he said. “It makes
+thinkin’ so easy on the head. And another thing, Fuzzy--when yuh’re
+crazy, nobody can figure out why yuh do crazy things.”
+
+“Mebbe it’s the heat,” sighed Fuzzy, “I dunno, I reckon we better go
+back to the ranch, where mebbe Emmy can talk some sense into yore empty
+head, Skeet.”
+
+They went back to the ranch and Fuzzy told his wife what Skeeter Bill
+insisted on doing. To his surprise, she said:
+
+“Well, I think that is just lovely of him!”
+
+“You--u-u-uh--why, shore it is,” agreed Fuzzy. “You ain’t ailin’
+nowhere, are yuh, Emmy?”
+
+“Why?”
+
+“Well, I dunno--I jist thought--oh, well, let it lay. He wants a couple
+blankets, a pair of overalls, a shirt and a old hat.”
+
+“What’s he going to do--impersonate an Injun?”
+
+“I dunno, Emmy. If yuh want my opinion, I’d say--”
+
+“I don’t, Fuzzy,” interrupted Aunt Emma sharply. “If Skeeter wants
+something, get it for him.”
+
+“Yes’m, shore. Bein’ as you both act crazy, maybe I’m the one that’s
+plumb loco. I dunno.”
+
+It was after dark when Skeeter Bill rode away from the Bar D ranchhouse,
+blankets and clothes tied behind his saddle. He also carried some
+doughnuts, a tin cup and a canteen of cold water. He refused to say what
+he intended doing out there, just grinned.
+
+He did not ride up to the spring but tied his horse in a mesquite
+thicket and walked the last two hundred yards in the brush. The brush
+crowded in fairly close to the spring but to the north was a spread of
+open country, covered only with knee-high growth. Near the spring was
+a pile of old posts, left over from the fencing.
+
+Skeeter scouted the country fairly well, but it was too dark for him to
+see any considerable distance. He cut some brush and sat down behind the
+pile of posts, working in the dark. Skeeter was not an artist, and his
+creation wouldn’t even have fooled a wary crowd, but from a distance it
+might be mistaken for a man.
+
+The neck and head was a broken piece of fencepost, to which he tied
+a stick, over which he fitted the old coat. After due deliberation
+he fastened it into the post-pile, with only the head and shoulders
+showing above the pile. Then he draped the overalls over the posts,
+giving the right effect for anyone viewing the spring from the south
+side. Skeeter did not have light enough to look it over critically.
+Then he took his blankets back in the mesquite, found an opening,
+and stretched out for the night, looking up at the stars.
+
+“This is Tuesday night,” he said half-aloud, “and Bill’s birthday is
+Saturday. Maybe I’m seven kinds of a darned fool but I ain’t quittin’
+on Bill’s druthers--until I have to quit.”
+
+Skeeter Bill’s range training had taught him to awaken at any unusual
+sound, but he slept right through until the light of a false-dawn
+painted the hills for a few minutes. It was cold up there in the
+brush.
+
+He watched the real dawn spread slowly across the divide, sending
+streamers of color onto the high points around the valley. He sat up
+in his blankets, buckled on his gun-belt and drew in deep breaths of
+the morning air.
+
+Suddenly he jerked to his knees, flinging the blankets aside. From
+somewhere, fairly close, came the whip-like crack of a rifle. Twice
+more it blasted, the echoes clattering back from the hills. Skeeter
+Bill was on his feet, gun in hand, hunched low. Then he went swiftly
+out along the brush to where he could see the spring and the pile of
+posts. His dummy was piled up at the foot of the post-pile, the hat
+six feet away!
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+
+Cautiously, Skeeter lifted his head. The shots had come from the north,
+and Skeeter caught sight of something moving. It was a man, or men, on
+horseback. Skeeter’s view was only momentary but Skeeter Bill was not
+being fooled by anybody. He stayed right there for at least fifteen
+minutes. There was not a sound. Several cows drifted in from the south
+and began drinking.
+
+Skeeter Bill walked out and looked at his dummy. One bullet had hit the
+hat, gone through the thin piece of fence post, mushroomed badly, and
+blown a hole five inches across at the front of the old hat. Another
+bullet had struck about a foot lower on the post, and had split it into
+two pieces. The bullet-hole was a foot below the top of the collar. The
+third bullet had missed.
+
+“Mighty good shootin’ in that light,” said Skeeter Bill, his face grim.
+“Either of those bullets would have blasted the life out of a man.”
+
+Skeeter Bill took the coat, hat and overalls. He threw them on his
+blankets before starting up the slope. He was careful, as he went up
+through the brush. The killer might not be quite satisfied with his
+own convictions, and come back to verify them. Bill worked his way
+slowly, watching the ground. He had gone about a hundred yards when
+he found where a boot-heel had cut into the dirt.
+
+Then he found where a horse had been tied, and more boot-prints. It was
+not difficult for Skeeter Bill to backtrack those high-heel tracks,
+because the man had made no attempt to disguise his trail. Finally he
+found the spot where the man had rested, waiting for daylight, and here
+he discovered three empty brass hulls where the man’s rifle had flung
+them. They were of thirty-thirty caliber and of a well-known brand.
+Skeeter looked them over carefully and put them in his pocket.
+
+Then he got down on his hands and knees, examining every inch of the
+dirt around where the man had waited. He rolled and smoked a cigarette
+before going back to his blankets, which he rolled up, with the
+bullet-marked clothes, and went to his horse.
+
+Breakfast was almost ready at the ranchhouse as Skeeter dismounted and
+carried his bundle up to the house. Fuzzy greeted him at the door.
+
+Skeeter Bill merely unrolled the bundle, handed the hat to Fuzzy for
+examination, and held up the coat for him to look through. Fuzzy
+squinted at Skeeter, his jaw sagging a little.
+
+“I made up a dummy,” said Skeeter, “and that’s what they done to it.
+Three shots--two of ’em dead-center.”
+
+Aunt Emma and the two cowboys came in to look at the remains, and they
+all stood around, solemn-faced.
+
+Fuzzy said, “That kind of ruins my appetite for breakfast, Skeet.”
+
+“Dead-center--twice!” breathed Len Riggs. “How far, Skeet?”
+
+“At least a hundred yards--and in awful bad light, too.”
+
+“Breakfast is ready,” said Aunt Emma soberly.
+
+There was little conversation at breakfast. For once in her life, Aunt
+Emma had no suggestions. This was a serious business. When they had
+finished Skeeter and Fuzzy stood outside together.
+
+Fuzzy said, “Skeet, you must have been lookin’ for somethin’ like this,
+or yuh wouldn’t have made up that dummy.”
+
+Skeeter Bill smiled slowly. “Just a hunch, Fuzzy--a hunch that worked
+out.”
+
+“I’m still fightin’ my hat,” said Fuzzy. “Yuh mean to say that they
+want water so bad that they’re willin’ to murder to keep that spring
+unfenced?”
+
+Skeeter shook his head slowly. “I don’t, Fuzzy. This deal goes back
+a couple years, I believe. Somebody don’t want Skeeter Bill Sarg in
+circulation.”
+
+“Hu-u-uh? You mean--they’re gunnin’ for you Skeet?”
+
+“They knew I was watchin’ that water-hole, Fuzzy, and they believed I
+was dumb enough to set on that post-pile. My hunch is that the water
+ain’t got a thing to do with it.”
+
+Fuzzy Davis’ eyes held a strained, nervous expression, as he tried to
+get the situation straight in his own mind. It was difficult to puzzle
+out anyone’s reasons for wanting to kill Skeeter Bill. Finally he said:
+
+“I don’t sabe the deal, Skeet. You ain’t had no trouble with anybody
+around here. Shucks, you jist got here.”
+
+“Take a look at that old hat,” said Skeeter soberly, “and don’t forget
+they thought my head was inside it.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Skeeter Bill wanted to go to town, so Fuzzy went with him. They tied
+their horses to the rail in front of the general store where Skeeter
+wanted to buy more tobacco. Emory Van Ness, the old merchant, shook
+hands warmly with Skeeter Bill, and sold him the tobacco.
+
+“I heard you was in town, Skeeter,” he said. “Going to stay with us for
+a while, I hope.”
+
+“Yuh can’t never tell about me,” replied Skeeter Bill. “I’m a
+tumble-weed, Emory.”
+
+Skeeter’s eyes swept over the supply of rifle and revolver ammunition on
+a shelf behind him, but did not see the brand of rifle cartridges he had
+found at the water-hole.
+
+“Do yuh need some shells?” asked Fuzzy.
+
+“I’ve got plenty for my six-shooter,” replied Skeeter. “Have you got a
+thirty-thirty, Fuzzy?”
+
+“Yeah, I’ve got one, but the firin’-pin is busted. Been layin’-off to
+get it fixed, but there ain’t no gunsmith around here.”
+
+Skeeter mentioned the brand of the shells he had found at the
+water-hole, but Van Ness shook his head slowly.
+
+“We ain’t had none of them for a couple months. Got some ordered. Sam
+Keenan bought the last box I had. Them others are the same thing. In
+fact, I have more calls for them.”
+
+They left the store, and Skeeter Bill drifted down to the New York
+Chop House to say hello to Margie Edwards but she was not in evidence.
+Another woman was waiting on the tables.
+
+Shorty Hale, the owner, came out from the kitchen, his face just a bit
+sheepish. Skeeter Bill asked about Margie.
+
+Shorty said, “She quit the job last night.”
+
+“Yea-a-ah? Did she get a better job, Shorty?”
+
+“She--she didn’t say. Just left.”
+
+Skeeter went down to the little house and found Mrs. Edwards laboring
+over a wash-tub.
+
+“Shorty told me you’d quit the restaurant, Margie,” Skeeter said.
+
+“Shorty must be getting polite,” she said. “He fired me.”
+
+Skeeter looked sharply at her. “What for, Margie?”
+
+“I don’t know. We didn’t have any trouble. Everything was going along
+all right but when my shift was finished, he told me that I didn’t need
+to come back.” She brushed a lock of hair off her forehead. “I don’t
+know what I am going to do now.”
+
+Skeeter Bill turned abruptly and left the house, his long legs taking
+long strides, as he went back to the restaurant. Shorty came out to
+the counter and found Skeeter Bill waiting for him. The expression on
+Skeeter’s face was not pleasant, as he said quietly:
+
+“Why did yuh lie to me, Shorty Hale? She didn’t quit.”
+
+Shorty swallowed painfully, but tried to bluster.
+
+“After all--well, she--”
+
+“Go ahead, Shorty. What did she do--or say?”
+
+“Nothin’,” admitted Shorty miserably. “Listen, Skeeter--this is between
+me and you--I don’t own this place--I work here. The owner said to get
+rid of her and I had to do it. Honest I did.”
+
+“Who owns it, Shorty?”
+
+Shorty Hale shook his head. “I can’t tell yuh, Skeeter. If I did, I’d
+lose my job. I’m supposed to own the place. Don’t tell anybody that I
+don’t. I jist had to tell you.”
+
+“Sam Keenan?” asked Skeeter quietly. Shorty blinked rapidly.
+
+“I can’t tell yuh, Skeeter. It’s my job.”
+
+“Shorty, I want an honest answer; does Sam Keenan try to hang around
+Margie Edwards?”
+
+“I--I hear he does,” whispered Shorty. “I don’t reckon it’s any secret.
+He kinda liked her--before Hooty got sent up. It ain’t none of my
+business, but I heard that he asked her to get a divorce and marry him
+only a week ago--and she refused. She’s kind of foolish. Sam could give
+her everythin’ and take care of them two kids.”
+
+“Much obliged, Shorty. I won’t mention it.”
+
+“I--I hope yuh don’t. I need this job, Skeeter.”
+
+Fuzzy Davis was waiting for Skeeter Bill in front of the general store.
+Skeeter said, “Fuzzy, let’s ride out to the Tumblin’ K and see Sam
+Keenan. We can cut across the hills from there.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Grumpily, Fuzzy said it was all right with him, but wondered why
+Skeeter wanted to go to the Tumbling K. In fact, he was trying hard
+to understand this tall, long-legged cowpuncher, who had always been
+more or less of an enigma. On the way out Skeeter said:
+
+“Fuzzy, did you ever know that Sam Keenan was tryin’ to shine around
+Margie Edwards?”
+
+“Well--uh--oh, I’ve heard he was. Never paid no attention, myself. Why?”
+
+“I just wondered,” replied Skeeter Bill.
+
+Sam Keenan’s place was a regular bachelor ranchhouse, with very few
+refining touches. There was a long, rickety porch. A man was sitting
+on the steps, working over a gun. He was “Arizona” Ashley, who had
+been Keenan’s cook for years, a thin, wiry old-timer. He shook hands
+violently with Skeeter Bill and Fuzzy, and invited them to sit in
+the shade.
+
+Ashley said, “Sam went to Silver Springs yesterday afternoon and the
+boys are all workin’. Sam’ll prob’ly be back late this afternoon. How
+have yuh been, Skeeter?”
+
+“Just fine, Arizona. Yuh’re lookin’ well.”
+
+“Yeah, I’m all right.”
+
+“What are yuh doin’--gettin’ ready for a war?” asked Fuzzy.
+
+Arizona grinned. “No, I hope I ain’t, Fuzzy. The boys are allus kickin’
+about the way this gun shoots, so I thought I’d tinker it a little. Just
+gettin’ ready to try it out. See that tin can on top of the mesquite out
+there, Skeet? See if you can hit it.”
+
+Skeeter took the rifle, cuddled the butt against his shoulder, and
+carefully squeezed the trigger. The tin can jumped into the air and
+disappeared. Skeeter Bill levered out the empty shell, and handed the
+gun to Arizona, who said:
+
+“See anythin’ wrong with that gun, Skeet?”
+
+“It shoots where yuh hold it, Arizona.”
+
+“That’s what I allus tell the boys--it ain’t the gun, it’s you.”
+
+“Skeet always could shoot the eye out of a gnat,” said Fuzzy.
+
+“And never lift its eyebrow,” added Arizona soberly. “It’s jist a gift,
+that’s all. Some folks never can learn. Are yuh stayin’ at Fuzzy’s
+place, Skeet?”
+
+“Yeah, for a few days. I’m sort of a drifter, Arizona.”
+
+“I know yuh are, and I’m sorry, Skeet. It don’t pay. I used to want to
+keep movin’, but I finally got smart, and I says to me:
+
+“‘Arizony, yuh’re gettin’ old. A rollin’ stone gathers no moss. You get
+a good, steady job and stick with it.’ And that’s what I’ve done. I’ve
+been here eighteen years, and look what I’ve got.”
+
+“What have yuh got?” asked Skeeter Bill.
+
+“A steady job and I only owe three dollars and six bits. Yuh never can
+tell how I’d be fixed if I kept on driftin’.”
+
+“Yuh’ve made a lot of sacrifices to git where yuh are, too,” remarked
+Fuzzy. “I ’member when yuh didn’t have anythin’.”
+
+“That’s before I got smart, Fuzzy.”
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+
+Declining to wait and eat supper at the Tumbling K, Skeeter Bill and
+Fuzzy cut across the hills to the Bar D. Aunt Emma was a little worried.
+
+She said, “After what happened this mornin’, I’d naturally worry.”
+
+“Nobody wants to hurt Fuzzy,” said Skeeter Bill.
+
+“They shot up a dummy, didn’t they?”
+
+“I resent that, Emmy,” protested Fuzzy. “Mebbe the heat has affected
+yore good manners. Set down and fan yourself.”
+
+“I think I will,” she smiled. “I’ve got the mulligan simmering on the
+stove, and the biscuits ready to shoot into the oven. That old stove is
+hotter than what sinners have facing them. Any news in Yellow Butte?”
+
+“We didn’t find any,” sighed Fuzzy, fanning himself with his hat.
+“At least, I didn’t--I dunno about Skeet. I seen him come from the
+New York Chop House, walkin’ like the devil was proddin’ him. He was
+gone a few minutes, and came back faster’n that. Into the Chop House
+he goes, stays a minute or two, and comes out.”
+
+“Keepin’ cases on me, eh?” Skeeter Bill. “I’d like to ask yuh a
+question, Fuzzy; did you ever hear that Sam Keenan owns the New York
+Chop House?”
+
+“Sam Keenan? No, I never did, Skeet. Where’d yuh get that idea?”
+
+“Things kind of come to me,” replied Skeeter Bill.
+
+“How is Margie Edwards?” asked Aunt Emma.
+
+“She got fired,” replied Skeeter Bill. “Shorty told me she quit, and she
+said she was fired. So I put it up to Shorty and he said that he didn’t
+own the cafe but took orders from the owner, and that the owner had told
+him to fire Margie.”
+
+“Aw, I think he’s tryin’ to crawl out of it, Skeet.”
+
+“If I thought he was, I’d drown him in his own soup.”
+
+“By golly, that’s it!” exclaimed Fuzzy.
+
+“What’s it?” asked Skeeter Bill quickly.
+
+“A sensible use for Shorty Hale’s soup. At that, it might be too thin to
+drown a man. You can breathe it without difficulty.”
+
+“Fuzzy!” exclaimed Aunt Emma. “That is ridiculous. But, Skeeter, what on
+earth gave you the idea that Sam Keenan might own that restaurant?”
+
+“I dunno,” sighed Skeeter Bill, “I suppose I had a hunch.”
+
+“You and yore hunches!” snorted Fuzzy.
+
+“Go look at that old hat, Fuzzy, and the back of the coat.”
+
+“Yea-a-ah, I reckon yuh do have flashes of intelligence. Sometimes I get
+smart, too.”
+
+“When?” asked Aunt Emma soberly.
+
+Fuzzy turned to Skeeter. “Ain’t it like a woman--allus tryin’ to pin yuh
+down to a exact date?”
+
+“And never gettin’ an answer,” said Aunt Emma, heading back for the
+kitchen.
+
+Ollie Ashley and Len Riggs wanted to go to Yellow Butte, and Skeeter
+Bill decided to go with them, against the protests of Fuzzy Davis, who
+declared that Skeeter might run into trouble, especially in the dark.
+
+“Trouble is my middle name, Fuzzy,” Skeeter Bill told him. “I’ll be all
+right. Besides that, I’ve got two good men with me.”
+
+“Them two?” scoffed Fuzzy. “Lot of help they’d be. I can snap my fingers
+and make ’em both go for cover.”
+
+“When, for instance?” asked Ollie soberly.
+
+“Aw, yuh’re just like Emmy, allus askin’ for dates. Go ahead and get
+killed. Might improve the country--I dunno.”
+
+Ollie and Len tied their horses at the Seven-Up Saloon, but Skeeter rode
+straight down to the Edwards house. He tied his horse to the rickety
+fence and went up to the lighted house. Young Bill came to the door to
+welcome Skeeter Bill. Margie and Nellie were reading a book. They were
+delighted to see Skeeter.
+
+Margie said, “You went out of here so fast yesterday that I had a
+feeling you were mad at me.”
+
+“Shucks, I never get mad at my friends,” said Skeeter with a smile. “I
+just had somethin’ on my mind at that time.”
+
+They sat and talked for an hour, before the two children went to bed.
+After they were gone Skeeter Bill asked Margie if she knew who owned
+the New York Chop House.
+
+“Shorty Hale,” she replied.
+
+“Shorty says he don’t, and that he had orders from the owner to fire
+you.”
+
+“That’s funny, Skeeter; everybody believes that Shorty owns it. And if
+there were another owner, why would he want to fire me? I haven’t done
+anything--not that I know about.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Skeeter Bill shook his head, hunched forward in an old rocker. Then he
+looked at her and said quietly:
+
+“Margie, I don’t want to pry into yore private affairs, but I’d like to
+know if Sam Keenan ever made love to you?”
+
+Margie Edwards’ laugh sounded forced, but she said, “It wouldn’t be
+anything new--if he did, Skeeter.”
+
+“Wanted to marry yuh, eh?”
+
+“Yes. But I wouldn’t marry him, Skeeter. I told him I was waiting for
+Hooty to come back, and he said--well, he said I’d have a mighty long
+wait. I told him I’d get along all right.”
+
+“Were Hooty and Sam Keenan good friends?”
+
+“Well I don’t know if they were good friends, but they certainly weren’t
+enemies, Skeeter. But what is all this about? You ask questions like a
+lawyer.”
+
+“I’m tryin’ to make two and two equal six, Margie. I kind of feel that
+I’ve woke up some sleepin’ dogs in Road-Runner Valley, and they ain’t
+happy about havin’ their sleep interrupted. I’ll be on my way to the
+ranch, I reckon, but I’ll be seein’ yuh again, I hope.”
+
+“Be careful,” she warned. “I don’t know what you are trying to do, but
+it is probably something dangerous.”
+
+“I like it,” he said, smiling at her. “Don’t worry, Margie; this is only
+Tuesday.”
+
+He closed the door behind him, leaving her wondering what he meant about
+this only being Tuesday.
+
+It was very dark out at the old fence, and Skeeter Bill almost had to
+find his horse by feel rather than by sight. As he slid the reins over
+the horse’s head, something told him that danger was near him. There
+had not been a sound, but some sixth sense warned him.
+
+Instantly he ducked low, intending to slide under the horse but a
+hissing rope slashed across his face, jerking tight over the bridge of
+his nose, and he was yanked backwards into the dirt. The horse whirled
+in against the fence when Skeeter Bill went down, and a voice snapped
+a curse.
+
+Skeeter came down on one hip and elbow, and for a fraction of a second
+the rope slacked. In that fraction, Skeeter Bill drew his gun and shot
+blindly, trying to use that tightening rope as a guide. A man yelled
+sharply, and the rope fell away.
+
+Quickly Bill jerked the rope from his eyes, going flat, gun ready. A
+shot blasted out, and the whirling horse went completely over Skeeter
+Bill but did not strike him. He heard a man running away along the
+fence as he got to his feet and caught his horse. Margie called from
+the doorway:
+
+“Skeeter Bill! Skeeter, are you hurt?”
+
+“I’m all right, Margie,” he called. “Somebody was just foolin’. See yuh
+later.”
+
+The two kids crowded in behind their mother, questioning her about the
+shooting but she was unable to tell them what happened, except that
+Skeeter Bill said he was all right.
+
+“I’ll betcha he’s a ring-tailed wolf in a fight,” declared young Bill
+proudly. “Look at them shoulders! Man, I hope I grow up to be as good
+a man as he is. Mom, I bet dad would like that.”
+
+“Yes, I believe he would, Bill. Now go back to bed and forget it.
+Skeeter Bill can take care of himself.”
+
+Skeeter rode back to the Bar D. Fuzzy and his wife were still up. Ollie
+and Len had already returned home and were in the bunkhouse. Skeeter’s
+nose was skinned, and there was a rope-burn over his left eye. He told
+them what happened.
+
+Fuzzy said, “Skeet, things like that ain’t no joke.”
+
+“I ain’t jokin’, Fuzzy. It’s got me puzzled tryin’ to figger why they
+tried to rope me. What their idea was I don’t know, unless they figured
+on draggin’ me around. Anyway, it turned out all right. I shot once,
+but I don’t reckon I hit anybody. Come to think of it,” said Skeeter
+thoughtfully, “I heard a man yelp.”
+
+“Well, that’s the doggoneddest thing I ever heard!” exclaimed the little
+cowman. “Skeet, can’t yuh tell us why they’re aimin’ to ease you off
+this mortal coil?”
+
+“Yore guess is almost as good as mine, Fuzzy.”
+
+“Yeah, almost,” said Fuzzy dryly. “Emmy, why don’t you get into this
+discussion? Ain’t you got no ideas?”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Aunt Emma shook her head, and almost lost her glasses.
+
+“I reckon we might as well go to bed,” sighed Fuzzy, “unless yuh want
+to stay up, Skeet, so as not to disappoint ’em if they come out here
+to finish up on yuh.”
+
+“No, I think they’re too disappointed to try again tonight.”
+
+They were getting ready for bed, when they heard horses coming up to
+the house. Fuzzy went over by the door, waiting for the visitors to
+knock when a voice called:
+
+“Fuzzy, this is Al Creedon!”
+
+“The law is among us,” whispered Fuzzy, and opened the door.
+
+It was the sheriff, with his deputy, Muddy Poole. Skeeter Bill was
+standing in the doorway to the kitchen, and called a greeting to the
+officers.
+
+“Ridin’ late, ain’t yuh, Al?” asked Fuzzy.
+
+“Kinda. Glad yuh’re home, Skeeter. We hoped you’d be.”
+
+“What’s eatin’ yuh, Al?” asked Skeeter curiously.
+
+“About what happened tonight--at Edwards’ house, Skeet. Several of us
+heard the two shots fired, but we had a hard time findin’ where it
+was. Mrs. Edwards told us that it happened in front of her place, and
+that you said you was all right.”
+
+“That’s right,” admitted Skeeter. “Somebody tried to rope me in the
+dark.”
+
+“He’s still got rope-burns on his eye and nose,” said Aunt Emma.
+
+The sheriff nodded. “Skeeter,” he said, “did you know a feller named
+Dutch Held?”
+
+Skeeter Bill shook his head. “I don’t believe I ever did, Al.”
+
+“I’ve heard of him,” said Fuzzy. “They say he’s a bad boy.”
+
+“Was,” said the sheriff. “Skeet, how many times did you shoot?”
+
+“Once. Somebody shot at me, too. Just two shots fired. I’ve got a kind
+of hunch that I hit somebody.”
+
+“So have I,” said the sheriff quietly.
+
+Skeeter Bill looked sharply at the sheriff.
+
+“What do yuh mean, Al?” he asked curiously.
+
+“Where was yore horse, when you started to climb on him?”
+
+“Why--right in front of the gate.”
+
+“Uh-huh. That makes the corner of the fence about twenty feet away.
+Well, Skeeter, we found Dutch Held at the corner of the fence, dead
+as a door-knob. He had one bullet through his right arm. In fact, it
+busted his arm at the elbow. The other bullet was in the back of his
+head. That one killed him instantly.”
+
+Skeeter Bill stared thoughtfully at the floor. That other shot had not
+been fired at him, but into the back of Dutch Held’s head.
+
+Fuzzy said, “It don’t make sense, Al.”
+
+“What do you think, Skeeter?” asked Muddy Poole.
+
+“There’s only one thing to think, Muddy,” replied Skeeter Bill. “The man
+who was with Dutch Held didn’t want to fool around with a crippled man,
+so he blasted him down.”
+
+“That would be a terrible thing to do!” exclaimed Aunt Emma.
+
+“Would yuh mind doin’ a little talkin’, Skeet?” asked the sheriff.
+
+Skeeter Bill smiled slowly. “Go ahead,” he said, “I ain’t got no
+favorite subjects, so select yore poison, Al.”
+
+“One of the boys from this spread intimated that somebody tried to
+murder you this mornin’, Skeeter. They tried it again tonight. It just
+happens that I’m the sheriff of this county and things like that are my
+business. What’s yore opinion?”
+
+“I agree with yuh, Sheriff. Go right ahead and find out who is tryin’ to
+kill me. It’s all right with me.”
+
+“You mean you don’t know?”
+
+“Sheriff,” replied Skeeter Bill seriously, “if I knew--sure--yuh don’t
+think I’d be waitin’ for them to try it again, do yuh?”
+
+“Like I told yuh on the way out here, Al, we’re wastin’ our time,” said
+Muddy Poole. The sheriff sighed and got to his feet.
+
+“I reckon yuh’re right, Muddy. I hope I see you again, Skeeter.”
+
+“That’s a cinch,” said Skeeter soberly. “You go ahead and hope that I
+can see you.”
+
+After the two officers had gone, Skeeter Bill said:
+
+“Fuzzy, what do yuh know about this Dutch Held?”
+
+“Well, he was a bad boy, Skeet. Suspected of rustlin’, horse-stealin’,
+smugglin’--finally, murder. Shot a feller in a holdup in Yuma. Dutch
+used to be around here once in a while, when he worked for the Double
+Circle Seven, north of Silver Springs. I hadn’t heard anythin’ about
+him lately.”
+
+“Much obliged, Fuzzy. Well, folks I reckon we can go to bed and get a
+good sleep. I think that somebody is awful disappointed over tonight’s
+work--and it ain’t me. Goodnight, folks.”
+
+“You better say your prayers,” advised Aunt Emma.
+
+Skeeter grinned at her and said, “Aunt Emma, how about you doin’ it for
+me? My prayers never seemed to go high enough to do any good.”
+
+“I’d like that,” said Fuzzy seriously. “It’ll give her less time to
+implore the Lord to make me a better man. I dunno who she’s holdin’
+up as an example.”
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+
+Although Fuzzy went to Yellow Butte with Skeeter Bill next day, he was
+not enthused over it at all. They talked with the sheriff, who told them
+that the inquest would be held Saturday forenoon, delayed because Doctor
+Boardman had to go to Crescent City on business. Skeeter Bill lost no
+time in going down to see the doctor, who was ready to drive away.
+
+“I wanted to ask yuh a question, Doc,” said Skeeter Bill. “On the day or
+two after Hooty Edwards was shot, was you called on to treat any sort of
+a gunshot wound?”
+
+The gray-haired doctor shook his head. “No, I’m sure I wasn’t, Sarg. I
+would have remembered it, I’m sure.”
+
+Skeeter Bill thanked him and went back to the main street, where he
+found Fuzzy Davis and told him he was going to Silver Springs.
+
+“I’ll be back for that inquest,” he told Fuzzy. “Don’t worry--I’ll be
+here.”
+
+“Who’s worryin’?” demanded the little cowman. “You must think yuh’re
+awful important. Go ahead and get yourself shot. Silver Springs is a
+awful nice place to die. I’ll tell Emmy to pray for yuh.”
+
+“Every little helps.” Skeeter flashed a smile. “Much obliged, Fuzzy.”
+
+It was late Friday night when Skeeter Bill came back to the Bar D ranch.
+Aunt Emma fixed supper for him, and Fuzzy did a lot of hinting, but
+Skeeter did not mention why he went to Silver Springs.
+
+Aunt Emma said, “Fuzzy and I have to be at the inquest tomorrow and they
+said you’ve got to be there, too. I saw Margie Edwards and they’ve told
+her to be present and bring the two kids.”
+
+Skeeter Bill smiled over his coffee. “We’ll have a regular old-timers’
+reunion,” he said. “Anythin’ new, Fuzzy?”
+
+“Nothin’ unusual. I went out to Hangin’ Rock water-hole but the fence is
+all right yet. Nobody shot at yuh in Silver Springs?”
+
+“No, they treated me all right. Nice place over there.”
+
+“You can have it,” replied Fuzzy. “Yuh’re goin’ to the inquest, ain’t
+yuh?”
+
+“If I live--yeah.”
+
+“My goodness!” exclaimed Aunt Emma. “You ain’t figurin’ on gettin’
+killed between now and then, are yuh, Skeet?”
+
+“Livin’ in a benighted land like this, Aunt Emma, it don’t do for
+anybody to plan too far ahead.”
+
+Saturday was always a big day in Yellow Butte. It was the shopping day
+for almost everybody in Road-Runner Valley and they not only brought
+their kids, but their dogs, as well. By ten o’clock all the available
+hitchrack space was taken. Fuzzy and Aunt Emma tied their horses behind
+the sheriff’s office, along with Skeeter’s horse.
+
+They held the inquest in the courtroom at the courthouse, with Doctor
+Boardman, the coroner, officiating. The room was filled, long before
+the inquest was called to order. Mrs. Edwards and her two children,
+Fuzzy and Aunt Emma and Skeeter Bill, all being witnesses, were
+accorded a special number of seats at the front.
+
+From his position Skeeter Bill could look over most of the crowd. Many
+of them he had known for a long time. In the front row of seats he could
+see Slim Lacey and Sam Keenan. Behind Lacey was Johnny Greer, Keenan’s
+foreman, and some of his men. In the selection of a jury, Sam Keenan was
+chosen, along with five other men of Yellow Butte.
+
+Sheriff Al Creedon and his deputy, Muddy Poole, had seats near the
+coroner, basking in the gaze of the proletariat.
+
+Doctor Boardman opened the proceedings, outlining the circumstances of
+the finding of Dutch Held’s body, and giving the cause of his death.
+
+“In my opinion,” stated the doctor, “someone held a forty-five almost
+against the back of Dutch Held’s head and fired the fatal shot, the gun
+held so closely that it burned his hair.”
+
+He waited for that fact to soak into the crowd and then said:
+
+“We will now call Skeeter Bill Sarg to the stand.”
+
+The coroner clumsily administered the oath for Skeeter Bill to tell the
+truth, and Skeeter swore that he would.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Skeeter took the chair, stretching his long legs. He shoved his
+holstered gun to a handy position.
+
+The coroner said, “It is hardly proper to wear a gun on the witness
+stand.”
+
+“Who is liable to have more need of one, Doc?” asked Skeeter, and the
+crowd laughed. The doctor nodded, and said:
+
+“Go ahead and tell the jury what happened in front of Mrs. Edwards’
+home.”
+
+Skeeter told them in detail of the attack on him, how he got out of it,
+and said that he didn’t know anyone had been killed.
+
+“I thought that shot was fired at me,” he confessed, “until the sheriff
+came out to the Bar D and told me what happened.”
+
+“I understand that you do not know--did not know--Dutch Held, and that
+you do not know why the attack was made on you,” said the doctor.
+
+“I never met Dutch Held, but I deny the last statement, Doc.”
+
+The doctor stared at Skeeter for several moments, and asked quietly, “Do
+you mean to say you know why you were attacked?”
+
+“I do,” replied Skeeter Bill coldly. “They tried it before, Doc, but
+they shot a dummy, instead of me. It was good shootin’, too, but yuh
+can’t kill a fencepost, even if it is wearin’ a hat. Yuh see,” he
+continued, after a pause, “the dry-gulcher made a mistake. He never
+picked up the empty shells from his rifle. Almost every rifle leaves
+its own mark on a shell. Mebbe it’s the way the firin’-pin hits the
+primer, a scratch on the shell, always in the same place. Doc, I
+found those shells and I shot a gun, just to get the empty shell--and
+they match.
+
+“But wait a minute! This deal is older’n just a few days. It goes
+back to the conviction of Hooty Edwards. Yuh see, gents, a bartender
+put dope into Hooty’s whisky that night, and that’s why Hooty didn’t
+know what happened. It’s a cinch that no doped man could have robbed
+that bank. That man had to be cold sober.
+
+“The sheriff swapped shots with the bank-robber that mornin’ and the
+sheriff was sure he hit the man. Gentlemen, he did, but it wasn’t
+Hooty Edwards. The man he hit went to a doctor for treatment of a
+gunshot wound next day, but not to Doc Boardman. He was scared to do
+that.”
+
+There was a long silence in that big room. Every eye was on Skeeter
+Bill, waiting for him to continue. He moved his long legs, pulling his
+feet in close to his chair. Then he said in a brittle voice:
+
+“Slim Lacey, keep yore hands in sight.”
+
+Suddenly Skeeter Bill flung himself sideways, landing on his knees, six
+feet away from the witness chair just as a bullet smashed into the back
+of the chair. Johnny Greer, hunched behind Slim Lacey, had drawn a gun,
+unnoticed by anybody, except Skeeter Bill, who had seen his shoulder
+action.
+
+Skeeter Bill’s gun flamed from his kneeling position, the bullet
+slashing across Lacey’s shoulder, but centering Greer. The room was
+instantly in an uproar. Keenan, in the jury box, flung a man away
+from in front of him, giving him room to shoot. He fairly screamed:
+
+“You dirty bloodhound, I’ll--”
+
+Skeeter’s gun flamed again, and Keenan went to his knees over empty
+chairs, flinging his gun ahead of him. Men were clawing at each other,
+crashing over chairs, trying to get away from the line of fire. Someone
+yelled:
+
+“Slim Lacey is gettin’ away! Stop him!”
+
+There was no chance to get through that milling crowd. Skeeter Bill
+whirled to the front windows. They were not built to be opened, but
+Skeeter hurled a chair through one of them, and went out onto the
+sidewalk as Slim Lacey ran from the entrance. The gambler saw Skeeter
+Bill, whirled, gun in hand, but caught his heel and went flat on his
+back, firing one shot straight into the air, before Skeeter’s toe
+caught the gun and kicked it halfway across the street.
+
+Men were piling out of the courthouse. Skeeter yanked the gambler to his
+feet. Al Creedon and Muddy Poole had fought their way loose from the
+crowd, and came running. One of the men was the gray-haired prosecutor,
+who had sent Hooty Edwards to the penitentiary, and his face was just a
+little white.
+
+“I’ll talk!” panted the frightened Lacey, cringing at the expression
+of the faces around him. “I--I didn’t kill anybody. I gave Hooty the
+dope in his drink, but Keenan paid me to do it. I put it in his last
+drink, when he said he was going home.”
+
+“Keep goin’,” said Skeeter Bill tensely.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+The gambler blurted out his confession hastily, in a high-pitched
+voice. “Sam Keenan was broke, and he robbed the bank, and put the
+deadwood on Hooty Edwards. He--he wanted Edwards’ wife. Then Keenan
+bought the Seven-Up and the New York Chop House. I didn’t own the
+saloon, but everybody thought I did.”
+
+“Why did they try to kill me?” asked Skeeter Bill.
+
+“Because they thought you knew too much. They wanted to make Fuzzy
+Davis sell the Bar D. That’s why Keenan hired Greer, and Greer was an
+old bunkie of Dutch Held. Greer was the best shot in the state. He
+says he shot Dutch accidentally, when Dutch ducked in front of him.
+He was tryin’ to kill you, Skeeter. That’s all I know. But I didn’t
+murder anybody--honest, I didn’t!”
+
+Muddy Poole snapped handcuffs on Slim Lacey and headed for the jail with
+him. Keenan wasn’t dead, but badly hurt. They carried him outside; he
+was conscious. He said to Al Creedon and the prosecutor:
+
+“Mrs. Edwards can have the Tumblin’ K--it’s hers. Where’s Skeeter Bill?”
+
+“Right here, Sam,” replied the sheriff, pushing the tall cowpuncher
+forward.
+
+Sam Keenan scowled up at Skeeter Bill, his voice weakening, as he said:
+
+“You win, Sarg. But I’d like to live long enough to kill Doc Higgins
+over at Silver Springs, for tellin’ you that he doctored a bullet-wound
+on me the day they got Hooty.”
+
+Skeeter Bill hunched down lower, his face grim, as he said:
+
+“Yuh’re wrong, Sam. Doc didn’t tell me that. Yuh see, he wasn’t comin’
+back to Silver Springs until today, so I couldn’t wait.”
+
+“You--uh--” Keenan blinked painfully, as he realized what had happened.
+Then he said, “But you found that matchin’ thirty-thirty shell,
+Skeeter.”
+
+“No, I didn’t, Sam,” denied Skeeter. “I tried to, but the blamed
+extractor flung the shell through a crack in the porch floor, and I
+didn’t have a chance to shoot twice.”
+
+“What did yuh have?” whispered Keenan.
+
+“All I had was a rawhide honda, which I found at Fuzzy’s spring, after
+the wires was torn loose. It’s got a JG mark, done with a hot wire. That
+sounded like Johnny Greer, and that’s all I had--except the knowledge
+that when a man’s guilty, he’ll fall for a lie, and you was guilty,
+Sam.”
+
+Skeeter Bill turned away. Fuzzy, Aunt Emma, Margie Edwards and her two
+children were talking excitedly.
+
+Fuzzy said, “We’ll have Hooty back here in two shakes, I tell yuh.
+You’ll own the Tumblin’ K, too. Whooee-ee! Ole Skeet shore mussed up
+that rat’s nest in a hurry, didn’t yuh, Skeet? I jist shook hands with
+Dan Houk. We was both so darned excited that we forgot to be enemies.
+He invited me to have a drink, but Emmy was listenin’. Well, darn yore
+long hide, why don’tcha say somethin’?”
+
+Skeeter Bill smiled slowly, his eyes shifting from face to face, until
+he was looking at young Bill Edwards, his blue eyes slightly red, cheeks
+just a trifle tear-stained. His eyes were just a bit wide, as he looked
+at Skeeter Bill.
+
+Skeeter Bill said, very softly: “Happy Birthday, Bill!”
+
+“It--sure--is,” whispered young Bill, and Skeeter walked away, yanking
+his hat down over his eyes.
+
+
+[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the Fall, 1948 issue
+of _Giant Western_ magazine.]
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76983 ***