Skeeter Bill turned abruptly and left the house, his long legs taking long strides, as he went back to the restaurant. Shorty came out to the counter and found Skeeter Bill waiting for him. The expression on Skeeter’s face was not pleasant, as he said quietly: “Why did yuh lie to me, Shorty Hale? She didn’t quit.” Shorty swallowed painfully, but tried to bluster. “After all--well, she--” “Go ahead, Shorty. What did she do--or say?” “Nothin’,” admitted Shorty miserably. “Listen, Skeeter--this is between me and you--I don’t own this place--I work here. The owner said to get rid of her and I had to do it. Honest I did.” “Who owns it, Shorty?” Shorty Hale shook his head. “I can’t tell yuh, Skeeter. If I did, I’d lose my job. I’m supposed to own the place. Don’t tell anybody that I don’t. I jist had to tell you.” “Sam Keenan?” asked Skeeter quietly. Shorty blinked rapidly. “I can’t tell yuh, Skeeter. It’s my job.” “Shorty, I want an honest answer; does Sam Keenan try to hang around Margie Edwards?” “I--I hear he does,” whispered Shorty. “I don’t reckon it’s any secret. He kinda liked her--before Hooty got sent up. It ain’t none of my business, but I heard that he asked her to get a divorce and marry him only a week ago--and she refused. She’s kind of foolish. Sam could give her everythin’ and take care of them two kids.” “Much obliged, Shorty. I won’t mention it.” “I--I hope yuh don’t. I need this job, Skeeter.” Fuzzy Davis was waiting for Skeeter Bill in front of the general store. Skeeter said, “Fuzzy, let’s ride out to the Tumblin’ K and see Sam Keenan. We can cut across the hills from there.” * * * * * Grumpily, Fuzzy said it was all right with him, but wondered why Skeeter wanted to go to the Tumbling K. In fact, he was trying hard to understand this tall, long-legged cowpuncher, who had always been more or less of an enigma. On the way out Skeeter said: “Fuzzy, did you ever know that Sam Keenan was tryin’ to shine around Margie Edwards?” “Well--uh--oh, I’ve heard he was. Never paid no attention, myself. Why?” “I just wondered,” replied Skeeter Bill. Sam Keenan’s place was a regular bachelor ranchhouse, with very few refining touches. There was a long, rickety porch. A man was sitting on the steps, working over a gun. He was “Arizona” Ashley, who had been Keenan’s cook for years, a thin, wiry old-timer. He shook hands violently with Skeeter Bill and Fuzzy, and invited them to sit in the shade. Ashley said, “Sam went to Silver Springs yesterday afternoon and the boys are all workin’. Sam’ll prob’ly be back late this afternoon. How have yuh been, Skeeter?” “Just fine, Arizona. Yuh’re lookin’ well.” “Yeah, I’m all right.” “What are yuh doin’--gettin’ ready for a war?” asked Fuzzy.