Cimarron cogitated. "If yo're aimin' to meet with Wolf, Nelson," he said, judicially, "I reckon you'd do better to stay here. He ain't got no reason to want anybody in town--nobody there has done anythin' to him. An' he knows none of us boys hang out there, except once in a while. What's more, he ain't likely to want to face Gunsight till he's squared up for his kidnappin'. As to him comin' back, I ain't nowise shore he won't. Some fellers are so full of th' idea of revenge that everythin' else plays second fiddle when they go on th' prod. They go fair mad an' don't care about nothin' else. Wolf's bad--bad as a mad rattler. I figger this is th' place for you. I'm sayin' this, too: If Slim had worked that razzle on him I wouldn't take a hand; but, knowin' Slim didn't, if that venomous reptile comes tearin' around here with his guns cocked, I'll just nat'rally puncture him at long range with my Remington. I ain't sympathizin' with no man that shoots till he knows why he's doin' it." "Stay here till this afternoon, anyhow," said Slim. "We'll be needin' our tally man before night, an' you can ride to town, look around, an' bring Two-Spot back with you. I'm sayin' Wolf won't come back--I'm cussed shore _I_ wouldn't in his place." "Shore," endorsed Larry. "Turn yore cayuse loose an' get one from Arch--take that bay gelding--he's near human at this kind of work. Anyhow, he's got more sense than Slim." * * * * * Dawn in Highbank found a sobered Wolf, unarmed, penniless, and hectic, with a steadily growing rage. He went to place after place in search of a horse, finally borrowing one from a saloon-keeper who knew the foreman of the Bar H. Promising to use the animal only as far as the ranch, and to send it back behind the freight wagon, he threw the saddle on it and then rode around in search of a gun. Knowing about the joke, and feeling the man's murderous rage, no one would lend him a weapon. He had about decided to leave without one when he chanced to pass the small horse corral and shed behind Pete Wiggins' hotel, and espied a sodden figure asleep against the palings. Stealing the puncher's gun he rode away and in a few minutes was cursing the ford, of which a few yards was swimming water. Emerging on the other bank he pushed up the bluff trail at a walk and then, reaching level ground, set off for his ranch at a pace which might have killed a poorer horse. As he rode, his mind became clearer and clearer, and he began to unravel the tangled skein of his abduction. Like his kind who, accustomed to hours of solitude, often talked their thoughts, he did his thinking aloud.