“The only thing is,” remarked the sheriff, “will it be torn down again by the same persons? If they done it once--yuh know.” “Might be interestin’.” Skeeter Bill was grinning. “If they come back again, they might be surprised, ’cause I’m watchin’ that particular part of these United States.” “What do yuh mean, Skeet?” asked the sheriff curiously. “Just what I said, Sheriff. They hadn’t better come back and start grabbin’ wire again.” “That watchin’,” said the sheriff. “It might be a long job.” “Yeah, it might. But who has more time than I have? They don’t need to hurry. I like to loaf in the shade.” Skeeter Bill and Fuzzy left the office and went up the street. The little cattleman was grimly serious. He said, “What’d yuh tell ’em that for, Skeet?” “Well, it’s true, Fuzzy.” “True, shucks! You ain’t goin’ to watch that water-hole.” Skeeter stopped short and looked down at Fuzzy. “Who’s goin’ to stop me--you?” he asked. Fuzzy shoved his hands deep in his pockets and glared up at Skeeter Bill. “You ain’t tryin’ to antagonize me, are yuh?” he asked. “I’m tellin’ yuh to stay down on yore own level. Don’t contradict a grown man, Fuzzy. I’m goin’ to watch that water-hole.” * * * * * Fuzzy cuffed his old sombrero over one eye and spat into the dusty street. “Well, if yuh are,” he said complainingly, “why tell everybody what yuh’re goin’ to do. That ain’t usin’ good sense.” “I don’t care who knows it, Fuzzy. That way, I won’t have to shoot some innocent friend of mine. I’d hate that.” “Yore logic,” declared Fuzzy, “is as uneven as a corduroy bridge over a rock-pile. If they know yo’re watchin’ ’em, they won’t come out there.” “And the fence don’t get torn down again,” added Skeeter. “Yuh’ve got me beat,” sighed Fuzzy. “When yuh left for Texas yuh was at least half-witted--but yuh deteriorated--badly.” Skeeter Bill’s eyes twinkled. “I like bein’ crazy,” he said. “It makes thinkin’ so easy on the head. And another thing, Fuzzy--when yuh’re crazy, nobody can figure out why yuh do crazy things.” “Mebbe it’s the heat,” sighed Fuzzy, “I dunno, I reckon we better go back to the ranch, where mebbe Emmy can talk some sense into yore empty head, Skeet.” They went back to the ranch and Fuzzy told his wife what Skeeter Bill insisted on doing. To his surprise, she said: “Well, I think that is just lovely of him!” “You--u-u-uh--why, shore it is,” agreed Fuzzy. “You ain’t ailin’ nowhere, are yuh, Emmy?” “Why?” “Well, I dunno--I jist thought--oh, well, let it lay. He wants a couple blankets, a pair of overalls, a shirt and a old hat.” “What’s he going to do--impersonate an Injun?” “I dunno, Emmy. If yuh want my opinion, I’d say--” “I don’t, Fuzzy,” interrupted Aunt Emma sharply. “If Skeeter wants something, get it for him.” “Yes’m, shore. Bein’ as you both act crazy, maybe I’m the one that’s plumb loco. I dunno.”