“She said somethin’ about it raisin’ up and killin’ yuh. Said somethin’ about what the Bible said about not havin’ wrong gods. I don’t sabe just what she meant. But I do sabe how she feels toward yuh. Deming, you’ve gone crazy over duty to the law. It’s all right to enforce the law, but yo’re just a damn’ fool over it. I knowed you was crazy when yuh sent Harry to the pen. You didn’t need to do it, and you know yuh didn’t. Oh, I’m glad I quit yuh.” Deming’s face flushed hotly and he started to rise from his chair, but sank back heavily, a queer expression in his hard gray eyes. “What did she mean by sayin’ that it would rise up and kill me?” he demanded. “That’s fool talk; women’s talk. Nobody can scare me. I’m glad yuh quit, if yuh feel the way yuh do about me--and yore job. You didn’t always fulfill yore oath, Joe. Mebbe it’s best that yuh did quit. I’m goin’ to be more particular in the next deputy I hire.” “They’ll probably be, too,” said Joe. “You’ll have a hell of a time, hirin’ a new man, ’cause everybody knows how hard yuh are, Deming. Well, I’ll pack my stuff and get out.” “All right, Joe; give me your star. And them ca’tridges in yore belt belong to the county.” * * * * * Several days passed in which Deming was obliged to run the office alone, which meant that twice a day he must carry food to his prisoner, against whom no formal complaint had been made. But the hobo was far too ill to care whether he had food or freedom. He spent most of the time on his cot, talking deliriously, and in the dim light of the little cell the sheriff could see nothing wrong with the man, except a fever. But finally he called in the doctor, who was also the coroner, and he immediately pronounced it a malignant case of smallpox; quarantining the jail. He was minded to quarantine the sheriff, but while he was making up his mind just what to do a cowboy, Slim Delong, fairly tore up the street of Calor, bringing news of a murder. Delong was fairly incoherent. Red Cowan, another cowboy working for the JB outfit, had murdered Al Mitchell, owner of the outfit, and had headed for the lava beds. Delong, riding in at the ranch, had seen Red Cowan riding away swiftly toward the lava bed country, and a few minutes later he had found Mitchell lying on the front porch, shot through the heart. * * * * * Mitchell was a big cattleman in that part of the country, and the sheriff’s son had been sent to the penitentiary for stealing Mitchell’s cattle. The town was rather in an uproar over the murder, but the sheriff did not ask any of the cowboys to ride with him. He saddled his roan horse, tied a quantity of food to his saddle, filled a canteen and headed for the lava bed country. He did not need help. He knew every inch of the lava bed country, although he did not know Red Cowan. Red had only been there a short time and he had heard Joe speak of meeting him at the JB.