Duffy wheeled. His arms hung by his sides. There wasn’t the faintest twitch of the fingers hanging a little below his gun belt, nor any quick lighting of his slaty eyes, nor the frowning recognition Rock half expected. True, recognition impended in the man’s attitude. And he was wary--wary without being hostile. “Hellow, Doc,” he answered evenly. “Doc!” A ripple of sardonic amusement stirred in Rock. Duffy thought he faced Nona Parke’s dead rider. Rock stood perfectly still for a second or two. The man’s eyes never left his. “You didn’t expect to see me, did you?” Rock asked. Surely his voice would establish his identity. Duffy had been in daily contact with Rock Holloway for two months on trail and had known him casually the season earlier. But he didn’t know him now. His words proved that. “Why, I reckoned I might,” he answered, “seein’ I rode in here. You didn’t expect me to take what you said serious, did you?” Rock had a retentive memory. “About you keeping off this ranch?” Duffy nodded. Rock could understand his watchfulness. “Shucks! I’ve changed my mind about caring a whoop whether you come here, there, or the other place,” Rock said slowly, “so long as you act white. But there’s something I do want to tell you, Duffy. Up the river yesterday somebody took a pot shot at me. Nona heard it.” * * * * * He looked at her. For a second her face was a study. Would she play up to his lead? Rock didn’t know himself precisely why he did this, except that instinctively he took the opening Duffy gave him. But her words came with sharp emphasis. Her wits were nimble. “I heard the shot. I didn’t see who fired.” “I don’t like to be shot at from ambush,” Rock said pointedly. “You say I’d do that? Did do that?” A rising inflection put an edge in Duffy’s tone. The tan of his long, homely face went a brick red. “I didn’t say so. I said I don’t like to be shot at from ambush.” Duffy stared at him for a second or two. “Lissen, Doc Martin.” His tone was flat--squeezed dry of all feeling. “You don’t like me. You’ve been kinda high-handed with me more’n once. I don’t suffer with admiration for you, myself. But I’ll tell you this: if I want you, I’ll take you with an even break. I’m no bushwhacker. If somebody shot at you, an’ you think it was me, you got another think comin’. When I shoot at _you_, I’ll be lookin’ you in the eye.” “I’m inclined to take your word for that, Duffy,” Rock said coolly. “If you say you didn’t, we’ll let it go at that.” “The way you’ve acted with me the last few months,” said Duffy, growing querulous, “I’d as soon shoot it out with you as not. I’m tellin’ you straight, Martin, but it’s up to you to make the break. I don’t _hunt_ trouble.” “Nor do I,” Rock assured him truthfully. “You musta changed your ways mighty sudden, then,” Duffy retorted. Rock grinned amiably.