The place is crowded and Telescope is on the stand. We gets in just in time to hear the judge ask Telescope if he can think of any earthly reason why he shouldn’t be held for the next term of court. “A lot of reason, Judge!” yells Chuck, pushing our prisoner up to the front. “Here’s the main reason. Gents, I makes yuh used to Slippery Silverton!” “Silverton ——!” I hears McGuire yelp. “That’s the owner of the Golden Cross mine, Mister Warde,” And then he horns his way over to our prisoner and snorts—“What does this all mean?” “I don’t know,” says the feller. “I—— I must ’a’ got hurt. Unless I’m mistaken I came part-way from the mine with Joe Allerton. We had that gold shipment. We sent out two decoy boxes on account of so many robberies. We rode across the hills. Joe figured on just making that train. He went to Helena. I wanted a pair of moccasins, and Joe left me at that Indian teepee. The owner wasn’t there, so I waited. That’s all, I guess. Somebody jumped on to me and—here I am.” “The—the gold didn’t come down yesterday?” gasps McGuire, and Warde shakes his head, painful-like. “No. Just a box of rocks.” Just then in comes Doc Milliken. “Say!” he yells. “Will one of you strong men come and help me set a man’s leg? Mighty Jones cut a tree the wrong way and it lit on him. Lucky he was found by an Injun, who came for help. He was able to send a note but fainted before he could sign his name. All I want is somebody to hold him down. He’s so absent-minded that he’s liable to run away. He says to tell Ricky Henderson that his box of dynamite is either in the hay-loft or under his cabin floor. He can’t remember which.” Art Miller is standing close to Chuck, and Chuck grabs him by the arm and whispers—“What does a new wheel for your stage cost, Art?” “About eight dollars, Chuck—why?” “Here’s ten. Don’t ask me.” While there is plenty of talk me and Chuck backs out and rides out of town. We’re in the bunk-house when Telescope and Muley and the old man comes home. Telescope and Muley comes in and looks us over, solemn-like. Pretty soon Muley climbs up on the bunk and recites, with appropriate gestures and feeling: “Let me sing yuh a song of four danged fools, Four punchers whose brains are nix, Who done some things they ought not to do, And got in a —— of a fix. One was stuck on himself and wanted to be Admired at ten cents a throw. Another wore stilts so he’d look like a man, When he went out after the dough. Three of the fools fooled with dynamite, One beat up an innocent man. The price of a wheel was all that it cost. You may beat it—I don’t think yuh can.” “Beautiful,” says I. “You’ve got a soul, Muley. There’s still that box of dynamite of Mighty’s to account for.” “He picked it up on his way home,” says Muley. “That’s settled.”