"I've been watchin' him close for weeks, seein' him drink every cent of my dad's money, seein' him get to be less 'n less of a man. "One day I was in town. I'd been drinkin' myself to keep from goin' crazy thinkin' 'bout this thing. Just at dusk, just when th' train come in an' everybody was down to th' station, I walked down th' street toward Nate's corral to get my horse. I seen him comin' towards me, Bruce. He was drunk, he could just about make it. He didn't know me, never has knowed who I was, but he looks up at me an' commences to cuss, an' I ... Well, I draws an' fires." He leaned back against the building. "He dropped an' I thought things was squared, so I lit out. But I found out I shot too quick ... or maybe I was drunker 'n I thought. "Where was he hit, Bruce?" "Left forearm, Benny ... right there." "Hum ... I thought so. I had a notion that gun was shootin' to th' right." They sat silent a moment, then he resumed: "When I got to thinkin' it over I was glad I hadn't killed him. I made up my mind that wasn't the best way. That's a little too much like killin' just 'cause you're mad, so I made up my mind I'd go on about my business until I was meddled with. "I'm livin' at my home, now, Bruce. I'm back at th' Sunset, livin' in th' cabin me an' my folks built with our hands, workin' alone in our mine, waitin' for good times to come again. I'm goin' to stay there ... right along. It's goin' to be my mine 'cause it rightfully belongs to me, no matter what Lytton's damn corporation papers may say. "Some day, when he sobers up, he'll start back there, Bruce. I'll be waitin' for him. I won't harm a hair, I won't say a word until he steps on to them claims. Then, by God, I'll shoot him down like he was a coyote tryin' to get my chickens!" Bayard got up and thoughtfully stroked the hip of the pinto horse. "I guess I understand, Benny," he said, after a moment. "I'm pretty sure I do." "He's ... He's as low as a snake's belly, ain't he, Bruce?"--as if for reassurance. "Yes, an' he'd be lower, Benny, if there was anythin' lower," he remarked, grimly. "He can shoot though; watch him, Benny! I've seen him beat th' best of us at a turkey shootin'." "That's what makes me feel easy about it. I wouldn't want to kill a man that couldn't shoot as good as I can, anyhow." Benny Lynch departed, still unsmiling, very serious, and, as Bayard watched him ride away, he shook his head in perplexity. "I wish I was as free to act as you are," he thought. "But I ain't; an' your tellin' me has dug my hole just that much deeper!" He looked out over the valley a long moment. It was bright under the afternoon sun but somehow it seemed, for him, to be queerly shadowed. CHAPTER X WHOM GOD HATH JOINED