“Dead? Whatcha know about that? I found him several nights ago, plumb flat over there in the lava beds. He was too sick to talk; so I brought him here. I’ve had one hell of a time, nursin’ him, Joe. Got smallpox, I reckon.” “Measles,” said Joe. “Must ’a’ got ’em from a hobo he had in jail at Calor. Hobo almost died, too. Didn’t Deming tell yuh what he was doin’ in the lava beds?” “Too sick, I guess.” “He was lookin’ for you, Red. Wanted yuh for the murder of Mitchell.” “What?” “Fact. Delong brought the news of it, and Deming started on yore trail. But Delong got throwed against a hitchrack post that mornin’, and it hurt him so bad he died that same afternoon. But before he died he confessed to murderin’ old Mitchell himself. He just thought he’d put the deadwood on you, ’cause you quarreled with Mitchell before yuh quit.” * * * * * Red Cowan laughed shortly. “So that was it, eh? Deming didn’t mention it to me. Mebbe he was too sick.” “Prob’ly. Too bad he didn’t live longer, Red. Delong confessed that Mitchell hired him to plant evidence that sent Harry Deming to the pen. We’ll have Harry out in a few days.” “Well, I’ll be danged!” “Queer, ain’t it?” mused Joe, looking down at the body of the sheriff. “His wife said that some day his star would rise up and kill him. She said he was makin’ a god out of his star. I dunno, Red. Things have a queer way of workin’ out. If he hadn’t been so strong on duty he’d never have taken that sick hobo off that train. Deming always had the idea of bein’ his brother’s keeper, yuh know.” “That’s what I’ve heard. Duty they called him, didn’t they?” “Yeah. Awful set in his ways. I suppose we might as well start back with him.” “Sure; might as well. Sorry I didn’t rope him down. But he seemed to be all right when I left. Fever made his heart weak, I suppose. But he never told me he was after me, Joe.” “He wouldn’t. I can figure out where he got the measles and I can figure out why he didn’t tell yuh what he was doin’ in the lava beds, but I’ll be damned if I can figure out why he killed the red bull calf and said it was you.” “I didn’t know about that, Joe. He must have been crazy.” “Mm-m-m-m,” said Joe slowly. “I s’pose he was. Red, do yuh believe in them Ten Commandments?” “Never read any of ’em. What are they about?” “Everythin’.” “Must be good, eh?” “Worth readin’. Git a rope and we’ll take him home.” [Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the January 25, 1928 issue of _Short Stories Magazine_.]