The fat man looked at him severely. “Young fella, I been hearin’ about you. Met up with Doc Rogers. Says you got all cut up. How about it?” “Doc Rogers ought to know.” “Was it serious?” “I’d say it was serious. Cost me twenty-five dollars.” “Rogers ain’t no two-bit man,” Budd explained with pride. “Piodie is sure one high tariff town. Nothing cheap about it.” “Here’s where he’s gettin’ ready to stick me on my feed bill,” Hugh mentioned to his buckskin. “Not on yore tintype. Yore money’s no good at the Pony Express Corral, Kid.” “Much obliged to Budd & Byers, Props.” “Sho, we’ll quit business when we can’t feed a friend’s bronc onct in a while. Say, was you much hurt, Kid? An’ how come it? Never knew you to go hellin’ around askin’ for trouble.” “No, an’ you never will. I sure wasn’t askin’ for this.” Byers had joined them. He nodded silently to Hugh. “Who did it?” asked Budd. “Wish you’d tell _me_ that, Jim. He didn’t leave his name.” “What’d he look like?” “He _felt_ like a ton of bricks when he landed on me. I don’ know how he looked. It was darker than the inside of Jonah’s whale.” “Tell it to us,” urged Budd. Hugh told the story of the attack on him. “An’ you don’t know who the scalawag was?” asked the fat man when he had finished. “I don’t _know_. I’ve got a guess—several of ’em.” “For instance?” “Is Sam Dutch living here?” “Yep. He’s the handy man of the Dodsons—camp bouncer, killer, mine jumper, general all-round thug.” “The Dodsons are the big moguls here, seems to me from what I hear.” “They come clost to it—own the Standard Union and the Katie Brackett, have a controllin’ interest in both stamp mills, run the stage line an’ the Mammoth saloon.” “And the big store, Dodson & Dodson. They own that, I reckon.” “Yep, an’ the building it’s in. Fact is, they’ve got title to half the lots in town.” “They’re a sweet pair.” “Sure are. Run the politics, too. The sheriff’s their property. The job’s worth twenty thousand a year, an’ they elected him. Course he’s good an’ grateful. Why shouldn’t he be?” “So Dutch carries the Dodson brand, does he?” “He does their dirty work.” “And his own, too.” “Sure.” “I’ve a notion Mr. Dutch has my autograph stamped on his face this glad mo’ning,” drawled Hugh. “Sorry to hear that. It’ll mean trouble unless you leave.” “That’s what he told me at Aurora,” Hugh answered quietly. “I heard about that. You’ve got his number. So has yore brother. Makes it worse. You’ll get no even break from him. It’ll be like last night. A shot outa the dark. Only next time he won’t miss.” “I’m not sure it was Dutch. I was one of the vigilance committee at Aurora. We ran a bunch of thugs from town. Might be any one of that gang. Or someone may have took me for Scot. He has enemies, of course.” “An’ you’re the spittin’ image of him, Kid. That last is one good guess.”