"Well, not trouble," replied Shanklin lightly. "If I'd come over for that, I guess I could 'a' started it before now." "Yes, I suppose you could," admitted Slavens, watching him distrustfully and feeling thankful, somehow, that the horse was between them. "I saw you up on the hill after your horse, so I thought I'd come over and let you know I was around," said Shanklin. "Thought I'd tell you that I ain't holdin' any grudges if you ain't." "I don't see where you've got any call to. I never took a crack at you with a blackjack in the dark!" "No, you didn't, friend," Shanklin agreed in his old easy, persuasive way. "And I never done it to you. You owe the honorable Mr. Jerry Boyle for the red mark you've got on your forrid there. I'll own up that I helped him nail you up and dump you in the river; but I done it because I thought you was finished, and I didn't want the muss around." "Well, it will all come out on the day of reckoning, I suppose," said Slavens, not believing a word the old scamp said. He knew that minute, as he had known all the time, that no other hand than Shanklin's had laid him low that night. Of this he was as certain in his own mind as if he had seen the gambler lift hand for the blow. Boyle had no motive for it up to that time, although he had been quick to turn the circumstance to his advantage. "I thought Boyle'd dickered you out of this claim before now," said Shanklin, looking around warily. "He's down the road here a little piece," replied Slavens testily, "in company of another friend of yours. You could have seen his tent as you came over if you'd looked." "I just put up my tent last night," Shanklin explained. Slavens took hold of his saddle-horn as if to mount, indicating by his action that the visit should come to an end. Shanklin, who was not in the least sensitive on the matter of social rebuffs, did not appear to be inclined to accept the hint. He shifted his legs, thrusting one of them forward in a lounging attitude, and dug in his trousers pockets with his long, skinny hands. "Well, spit it out and have it over with!" snapped Slavens, feeling that there was something behind the man's actions to which he had not given words. "That was a purty good coat I left with you that night," suggested Shanklin, looking up without the slightest stirring of humor in his dry face. "You're welcome to it, if that's all," said Slavens. "That's all. I was kind of attached to that coat."