"He won't be within miles of here by this time," said Big Tom. "He dusted quick. If he was jokin' he'd get away _pronto_, an' if he wasn't, he'd do it quicker. I reckon you'd better climb up on that bench an' see what you can find--an' empty shell might help us a lot. But don't forget to see th' Doc, this time. After that you can go to town an' find out what you can learn. Now get started. An' take good care of that hat--that ain't no way to treat it, nohow." Smitty growled, took down the six-shooter, strode out to his horse and swung into the saddle. "Hope nobody picked it up," he said. "Twenty dollars is twenty dollars, an' I ain't got th' twenty. Anyway, it's a better gun than they're makin' nowadays." "Don't lose that one while yo're pickin' up th' other," laughed the foreman. When he was out of sight of the ranch Smitty wheeled sharply and rode eastward. "I got to get it," he muttered, "or I'll never hear th' last of it; but there ain't no reason for ridin' through th' canyon an' th' arroyo, along th' side of th' mountain for no four miles. It was too cussed close for a joke. An' mebby he aimed to spatter me all over th' trail. I just can't figger it, nohow. But I'm free to remark that any more of them jokes will send Smitty dustin' along th' trail, no matter what way he's pointin' at th' time, an' he won't never come back no more. Somehow, I just can't help thinkin' of pore Squint. Cuss it, I can feel it yet!" Getting near the scene of his discomfiture, Smitty dismounted and went on a reconnaissance, viewing the benches from every angle, and after some time he located his gun lying in the grass near the trail. Returning to his horse he mounted and rode forward, striking into a dead run as he approached the rocky hump in the trail and, leaning down, he picked up the weapon as he swept past, no mean feat when the grass is considered. In a few minutes he pulled his mount to a lope and soon drew rein at the Doc's door, where he delivered the message, gossiped for a few minutes, and then went on to town.