* * * * * Slim, Frijole and Oscar took the buckboard and headed for the JHC, while Henry and Judge went up to their room. It was almost morning. Henry’s face was scratched, his clothes badly torn. He took off his boots and sank down in a chair. “Well, my friend, it looks as though _finis_ has been written for the Shame of Arizona,” remarked Judge. Henry drew a deep breath, flexed his tired hands, and said, “Judge, a Conroy always goes down fighting.” “Against whom--if I may ask, sir?” “My opponent has not been selected yet.” “And today--they hold that meeting. The time is short, sir.” “Aye, my friend--but not too short. We must sleep on it.” Someone knocked timidly on their door, and Henry said, “Come in.” It was Slim Pickins, who announced, “We’ve decided to stay here t’night, Henry.” “You have? And why, if I may ask, Slim?” “Yuh see,” explained Slim, “Oscar was drivin’, and he knocked the left front wheel off the buckboard against the sidewalk.” They were barely asleep, when another knock sounded. “Don’t bother lighting a lamp, Henry. The professor is gone,” came Doctor Bogart’s voice. “You mean--he died already, Doc?” asked Henry huskily. “No, I mean he pulled out. Opened a window in the bedroom and left it open. Took all his clothes.” “My goodness, Doc! Why, the man must be out of his head!” “I wouldn’t swear to that, Henry--but he is out of my house.” “Should we make a search for him--do you think--I hope you do not?” “No, I don’t believe that would do any good, Henry. I just thought you’d like to know about it. Good-night.” “Good-night, Doc.” Doctor Bogart closed the door and Henry sank back. “The professor must be wandering in his mind,” commented Judge. “With brains enough left to dress himself and crawl through a window? He may be wandering, Judge--but not in his mind.” Henry slid out of bed and lighted the lamp. Judge sat up in amazement and saw the sheriff starting to dress. Judge ran his bony fingers through his mop of tousled hair, shut his eyes tightly and then looked at Henry again. The fat man was struggling with a rather tight pair of overalls. “You must have been hit rather hard, too, Henry,” said Judge. “I suspect that some of my sense of balance has been disrupted,” agreed Henry, “but I am normal again--thank you. Get into your clothes, Judge; and I would advise boots, instead of those disreputable slippers you have been wearing. And chaps, too, if you do not mind.” “Have you gone mad?” gasped Judge. “We haven’t been to sleep yet.” “Oh, get dressed and do not quibble. You must realize that a man died in the depths of Lobo Canyon tonight, and, in spite of Mr. Pelly’s diagnosis, we are still the peace officers of Wild Horse Valley, and it is our duty to remove that body.” “Heavens above!” snorted Judge. “You mean--no, you can’t mean that, Henry-- at this time of the night!” “Explain, Judge.”