"He missed because he wanted to miss," said Big Tom. "One of th' boys is playin' a joke on you--you know what they've said about that tent. He come closer than he reckoned on--I'll bet you rocked forward in th' saddle as he shot." "Yes, I reckon I did--you know what ridin' is over that hump," Smitty said. "I remember that when I jerked back as it passed my nose I went quite a ways--my neck is sore from th' jerk. But I'm tellin' you I ain't nowise shore it was any joke. An' I says, if it was, it was a cussed pore one. I'll nat'rally skin any fool _I_ ketches playin' any more jokes like that on _me_. Cuss it, it skun my nose!" "A skin fur a skin, huh?" chuckled the foreman. He handed the hat back to its owner. "There ain't no man on th' range that would miss yore head, hat or no hat, from them benches. It ain't more than seventy-five or eighty feet from up there. They aimed to miss you; an' they shaved it a little too fine, not allowin' for you bobbin' forward. I says it was one of th' boys. You lay low an' use yore eyes an' ears, an' if you find out who it was I'll give that fool a dressin' down he won't forget. A joke's a joke--we all play 'em; but there's such a thing as ridin' 'em too hard. Did you give th' Doc my message?" "What message?" The foreman stared at him and slowly raised his hands. "I'll be cussed--it was more of a joke than I thought. Didn't I tell you to ride up there an' tell th' Doc that we wanted to see him tonight? Didn't you leave here to tell him that, an' for nothin' else?" he demanded, his voice rising. "Yeah, I reckon mebby you did," admitted the puncher, uneasily. "You want to see him tonight, shore." "I do. Now you fork that cayuse an' get goin'. Good Lord! That bullet must 'a' hit yore mem'ry." He glanced at his puncher's thigh. "An' where's yore six-shooter? Did you forget that, somewhere?" Smitty's hand went to the holster and he cursed heartily. "D--n these open sheaths! It must 'a' fell out when that jack rabbit did th' fancy swappin' of ends. Now I got to go get it, but I'm borrowin' a gun to wear, or I stays here. Somethin' tells me it's unhealthy to go ridin' around this God-forsaken country without no six-gun." "Take that spare one of mine, hangin' up over my bunk," offered the foreman. "She's in good shape. Now, yo're plumb shore you didn't lose nothin' else, more valuable than earthly belongin's?" he grinned. "Yo're shore yo're goin' back for yore gun?" "Shore I am; what you mean?" replied Smitty, suspiciously. "Nothin' worth mentionin'," smiled Big Tom. "I reckoned mebby you'd take th' over-mountain trail, seein' as it's shorter." "Then how could I get my gun?" "That's what I was wonderin'." "I'll get it," Smitty assured him. "I'll get it unless yore fool joker picked it up. Mebby he's a-settin' on it, waitin' to hand it to me, an' 'pologize for missin' me."