"If I don't find out how about it right pronto, I'll bust!" Gelle complained to a lean cat that came walking up the path with a chipmunk in its mouth,--earning its board, Gelle thought irrelevantly while he waited, sight and hearing strained to catch some indication of what was going on down there. It was too quiet. Gelle did not like it at all. And then from the road to town came the pluckety-pluckety tattoo of galloping horses, and Bud, Delkin and Bradley swerved without checking their pace and came racing through the gateway; saw Gelle standing in the doorway and reined closer to the house. Bud's horse stopped in two stiff-legged jumps within ten feet of Gelle. "It's down in the pasture, whatever's goin' on," Gelle called, without waiting to be asked. "I got Palmer tied up in here--the boys went foggin' past--there was some shootin', but it quit before they got there. For the Lord sake, go bring me some news!" At that moment the boys came loping around the end of the stable, riding loose and in no great hurry. "Show's over," Tony bellowed, with possibly a shade of mean triumph in his voice--for Bud's benefit. "Bat and Ed, they're down there in the pasture deader'n last year. That Mex and ole Palmer's about all there is left to hang, and we glommed the Mex and Jelly's got Palmer. Bud, you might as well gwan home. Us boys have wound things up for yuh." "Yes? Did you get the money back?" Bud was young enough and human enough to take that fling at them. "Oh, no-o--but that's a mere detail. We ain't come to that yet." Tony's manner was still charged with triumph. "Say, who shot Bat an' Ed White?" Gelle's mind pounced upon the one puzzling point in the affair. "You fellers didn't. There wasn't a shot fired after you boys passed the house." "Why--we figured they shot each other. Bat's gun was still smokin' when we got there, and Ed's gun was warm. Bat had fired three shots and Ed White two--" "Yeah? Who fired them other four or five shots? I counted nine er ten, I wasn't shore which. How many 'd you hear, Snowball?" Sam had just arrived, puffing from haste and excitement. "Jes' what yo'all heah, Mist' Meddalahk, yessuh. Me, Ah doan' count good nohow, but Ah's shuah Ah huhd shootin' lak dey nevah would run outa bullits. Ah counts mighty slow, but Ah huhd jes' as many as what yo'all huhd." "Sounded like more than five to me," Bob Leverett declared, now that the subject was opened. "More like about four guns in action than two; three, anyway. Reckon there's more in the gang that we don't know about?" "That," said Delkin, "is what we must find out." CHAPTER SEVENTEEN "BUD AND JELLY; ONE OR BOTH"