“I wouldn’t say that, either. He was hit, an’ laid out senseless; but what it was hit him is more’n I can savvy.” “The blow was on the head, wasn’t it?” “Toby sure. It wouldn’t have grabbed his wits if it hadn’t been on the head.” “Do you think that Nate Dunbar could have ridden up behind Phelps and struck him a blow on the head with a quirt handle?” “It wasn’t a quirt handle. I’m darned if I know what it was, as I was jest sayin’. And I’ve been tellin’ both Hank and Bloom that Nate Dunbar couldn’t have done it, that Nate would have used the business end of a shooter and not bothered with the thing--whatever it was--that collided with Jake’s head. But they’re set in their notions an’ won’t listen to reason.” “Dunbar did it!” cried Phelps. “He shore did!” agreed Bloom; “and Buffalo Bill sent Nate Dunbar after Jake so’t he could do it.” “Bloom,” said the scout, “you’re a cur dog. As an officer of the law, you should be trying to bring evil-doers to justice and bring peace on the Brazos. But you’re doing neither. All your energy is expended in fomenting trouble and discord. But we’ll settle this matter once and for all. You’ll know, presently, just what happened to Jake. I invite you, and Phelps, and the doctor to ride with me.” “It’s a trap!” yelped Bloom. “He’s layin’ for us, Phelps.” “Hush your yaup!” cried the doctor, “or I’ll give you somethin’ that’ll make you feel real bad. Phelps is going with Buffalo Bill; so’m I; so’re you. Do you understand me? As a man with the free and unrestricted right of franchise, a man who voted for you for sheriff, you’re going, Bloom, or I’ll see to it that you’re everlastingly snowed under at the next election. Phelps is going because I say so, and that’s why. Git your hosses. While you’re about it, git mine. Vamos!” “You can boss Bloom,” answered Phelps, “but you can’t boss me. I’m staying here, with Jake.” The doctor stepped to the door. “Prouther!” he called. “Hyer!” answered the voice of Prouther. “Get up Phelps’ hoss, and Bloom’s, and mine. We’re goin’ to take a hossback ride through this beautiful morning quiet. Pronto, boy, pronto!” “On the jump.” The doctor turned back, pulled a cigar from his pocket, bit off the end and scratched a match. “Sorry I ain’t got another,” said he. “Look here, doc,” fussed Phelps, “you can’t handle me like this.” “I can’t, hey?” returned the doctor, puffing at his weed. “I’m doing it, Hank, and you say I can’t. Poof! Why, if I wanted to, I could rope, down and tie you. Buffalo Bill says he’s going to settle this mystery about Jake.” “It ain’t any mystery,” scowled Bloom. “He’s fixed up something to make it look as though Dunbar didn’t----” There was a tramp of feet. The next moment, Buffalo Bill had Bloom against the wall and was twisting his fingers about his throat. “Say you didn’t mean that,” said the scout. The sheriff glared and stuttered. “Out with it!” went on the scout. “I--d-d-didn’t mean it----” gurgled Bloom.