"Well, son, I think that what you did was the wisest possible thing to have done. Of course you didn't have much choice in the matter. You were bound to do whatever Mrs. Powell and little Bess said that they wanted done, but as it happens what they wanted done was the best thing that could have been done. It surely would have been mighty uncomfortable for those two women--as nice women as I ever saw--to have a man lynched on their account, as you might say, right close to the house. It was up to you to help them out of that scrape, and you did it sensibly and well. I'm not a mite surprised at Bessie's killing that man. She's a mighty smart little girl; thinks quick and acts quick. I expect if she hadn't shot as she did, there's no telling what amount of deviltry those two men might have been up to." "You're right, Hugh, she's plucky and a good shot, and she must have been mighty quick to think what to do; but, I tell you, it made her feel mighty bad to be obliged to do it, and for a while after she had shot she looked as white as a ghost." "Davis?" reflected Hugh. "I am trying to see if I can't recollect that name. What sort of looking fellow was the one that got killed?" "He looked like 'most anybody else, except that he had a more or less hooked nose, and a black mustache. Mrs. Powell said that his eyes looked sharp and snappy, and sort of cruel; but of course I didn't see his eyes." "I was wondering," said Hugh. "Years ago, down in old Nebraska, I used to know a cow puncher named Bill Davis, and he might have been this man. The description fits him well enough, but I don't know as it makes much difference, seeing he's dead. You say you didn't find any letters or papers on him." "Nothing; nothing except a pipe and tobacco and matches, and a little small change." "Of course, you don't know anything of what become of the other fellow?" "Nothing more than what I have told you," said Jack. "He started for the railroad, and that's the last I saw of him." "I don't believe you ever will see him; unless he writes you for the fifteen dollars you owe him. He may do that; but, somehow, I think likely he'll be too scared even to do that." "I don't know," replied Jack; "he seemed mightily afraid of the business end of the six-shooter, but he didn't seem very much afraid of me; he seemed kind of sorry rather than afraid. Well, it's Powell's business, and not mine, and I am not going to say anything about it. If he wants to speak of it, all right." "I've heard of mighty few people getting into trouble by keeping their mouths shut," said Hugh, "but of a whole lot that have come to grief from talking too much. You'll be all right, I think, to keep quiet." Jack stood up. "I guess I'll go over and speak to Mr. McIntyre, and get my work laid out for the next two or three days," he said. "He may want me to go on night herd to-night. I suppose there are plenty of fellows who will be mighty glad to get off."