Prowers tilted back his chair on two legs and chirped up with satiric comment. “We got quite a nice party present. Any late arrivals not yet heard from?” Both Lon and Justin Merrick were taken aback. In the darkness they had not yet recognized the little man. The foreman spoke dryly. “Might ’a’ known it. Trouble and Jake Prowers hunt in couples. Always did.” “I could get a right good testimonial from Mr. Lon Forbes,” the cowman said, with his high cackle of splenetic laughter. “Good old Lon, downright an’ four-square, always a booster for me.” Betty whispered. “He’s an awful man, Lon. I’m scared of him. I didn’t know any minute what he was going to do. Oh, I _am_ glad you came.” “Same here,” Lon replied. “Don’t you be scared, Betty. He can’t do a thing--not a thing.” Merrick had been taking off his skis. He came up to Betty now. “Did he annoy you--say anything or--?” “No, Justin.” A shiver ran down her spine. “He just looked and grinned. I wanted to scream. He shot Mr. Hollister. I know he did. Or had it done by that Cig.” “Yes. I don’t doubt that.” The doctor, disencumbered of impedimenta of snowshoes and wraps, fussed forward to the bedside. “Well, let’s see--let’s see what’s wrong here.” He examined the wound, effervesced protests and questions, and prepared for business with the bustling air that characterized him. “Outa the room now--all but Miss Reed and one o’ you men. Lon, you’ll do.” “I’ll stay,” announced Merrick with decision. “All right. All right. I want some clean rags, Black. You got plenty of hot water, I see. Clear out, boys.” “You don’t need a good nurse, Doc?” Prowers asked, not without satiric malice. He was playing with fire, and he knew it. Everybody in the room suspected him of this crime. He felt a perverted enjoyment in their hostility. Black chose this moment to make his declaration of independence. “I’d light a shuck outa here if I was you, Jake, an’ I wouldn’t come back, seems to me.” The cold, bleached eyes of the cowman narrowed. “You’re givin’ me that advice _as a friend_, are you, Don?” he asked. The range rider’s jaw stopped moving. In his cheek the tobacco quid stuck out. His face, habitually set to the leathery imperturbability of his calling, froze now to an expressionless mask. “I’m sure givin’ you that advice,” he said evenly. “I don’t hear so awful good, Don. As a friend, did you say?” The little man cupped an ear with one hand in ironic mockery. Black’s gaze was hard as gun-metal. “I said I’d hit the trail for home if I was you, Jake, an’ I’d stay there for a spell with kinda low visibility like they said in the war.” “I getcha, Don.” Prowers shot a blast of cold lightning from under his scant brows. “I can take a hint without waitin’ for a church to fall on me. Rats an’ a sinkin’ ship, eh? You got a notion these fellows are liable to win out on me, an’ you want to quit while the quittin’ is good. I been wonderin’ for quite a while if you wasn’t yellow.”