With shaking fingers he rolled a cigarette and spilled most of the tobacco. The clamour within the ranch house suddenly became louder. "He shore takes it hard," muttered Chuck Morgan, repressing a shudder with difficulty. Loudon slid around the corner of the ranch house and joined them on the top rail. "Thought yuh was goin' to water the hoss," said Chuck. "Telescope's goin' to use him," said Loudon, and endeavoured to whistle "The Zebra Dun." "I'm kind o' glad to know who did plug me that time," remarked Johnny. "I've always knowed who done it," Loudon said. "I dug a forty-five bullet out o' Blakely's swell-fork the day we had the run-in at the Bar S." "Why didn't yuh tell me?" demanded Johnny. "The bullet wasn't proof, when yuh come right down to it. No use o' yore lockin' horns with Blakely, anyway. It wouldn't 'a' done no good." "Well, it don't---- Hellenblazes! Hear him yell!" Loudon began to swear under his breath. A door banged suddenly. Blakely's insane shrieking abruptly stilled. Soon the three men heard the trample of the gray's feet. Then, beyond the ranch house, appeared Laguerre. He was mounted. Face downward across his lap lay Blakely, gagged with his own holster and silk neckerchief. Riding at a walk, Laguerre headed toward the grove of singing pines where they had left their horses. When Brown Jug and his double burden disappeared among the trees Loudon drew a long breath. "I ain't in a bit of a hurry for my hoss," he declared. "Which I should say not!" Johnny Ramsay exclaimed with fervour. The sun was an hour high when Laguerre loped out of the grove. He was leading their four horses. They watched him with morbid fascination. Laguerre rode up to the corral and halted. The gray, hard held, shook his head. On the right cheek-piece of the horse's bridle a black-haired scalp flapped soggily. And Laguerre looked up at the three men on the top rail of the corral. "No use hangin' round here no more," said Loudon, slipping to the ground. "Might as well mosey over to that blind cañon south of Smoky Peak an' see if them cattle really are there." Three days later Loudon and his comrades, their horses drooping-headed and heavy-legged, rode into Farewell. Signs of the late skirmish were plentiful. There was not a whole pane of glass in any of the buildings which had served as forts; and doors, facades, and window casings were pock-marked with bullet-holes. Bill Lainey, consistent always, was dozing under the wooden awning of his hotel. Awakened, the hotelkeeper solemnly shook hands all around, and wheezed that it was a fine day. "Yeah," said Loudon, "the air round these parts does seem clearer a lot. An' there ain't so many folks on the street, either."