Yes, Duffy had made it clear enough where he stood. Still, somebody had shot Doc Martin. Rock was still pondering on that problem when Nona came back from the house. She had changed into a pair of overalls and leather chaps. She wore a beautifully made pair of tan riding boots. She looked like a slim, capable boy, with her dark hair tucked out of sight under a felt hat. “What on earth did you do that for?” she demanded irritably. “Do what for?” Rock affected ignorance. “Let him think you were Doc Martin?” “Well, he was so darned sure of it, for one thing,” Rock answered thoughtfully. “It struck me as a good chance to feel around and find out if he did take that crack at Doc. I don’t believe he did. Also, I think I’ve convinced him that I’m going--as Doc Martin--to mind my own business so far as you’re concerned.” “I noticed how you managed to create that impression,” Nona admitted. “You were very--very----” “Adroit,” Rock suggested dryly. “That’s the word.” She smiled. “You certainly have----” “I meant to be,” Rock interrupted, frowning. “I value my scalp, and I never like to scrap over nothing.” He looked intently at her. “See here: If people around here persist in taking me for Doc Martin, why not let it go at that?” he suggested. “Why do you want to pass for him?” she demanded. “Are you on the dodge for something?” Rock shook his head. He didn’t want to explain to her the possibility of Elmer Duffy starting a blood feud with him over Mark’s death. He had disarmed Duffy, he thought, in his rôle of Doc Martin, no longer jealously hostile toward any ambitious male who came wooing Nona Parke. And Rock was quite willing to chance some unknown enemy of the dead rider. Pity and wonder had stirred in his breast when he looked at his double stretched on the bed, and when he helped to bury him. He had a sense of outrage in a man being murdered from ambush. He was puzzled about that shooting--curious about the how and why. “No,” he said. “I have told you my name, and where I came from. I have nothing to hide. Just the same, I have a notion to play Doc Martin for a while. I might find out who killed him. Duffy didn’t.” “Perhaps not. I’d hate to believe it. And, still, I don’t know. It’s just a feeling. If Elmer Duffy didn’t shoot Doc, I can’t imagine who would. Doc never quarreled with any one else around here that I know about, and I think that I would know if he had.” “Sometimes,” Rock said, and he was thinking of himself when he spoke, “things that are a long way behind a man crop up. Queer things happen in the cow country. Well, what about it? Do you want to keep it dark about Doc being shot and let me play his hand for a while? Or shall I announce myself to Elmer Duffy and everybody else who takes me for Doc Martin?” “Suit yourself,” she said. “You will be taking your own chances.” “On what?” “On whatever happens.”