Skeeter rode back to the Bar D. Fuzzy and his wife were still up. Ollie and Len had already returned home and were in the bunkhouse. Skeeter’s nose was skinned, and there was a rope-burn over his left eye. He told them what happened. Fuzzy said, “Skeet, things like that ain’t no joke.” “I ain’t jokin’, Fuzzy. It’s got me puzzled tryin’ to figger why they tried to rope me. What their idea was I don’t know, unless they figured on draggin’ me around. Anyway, it turned out all right. I shot once, but I don’t reckon I hit anybody. Come to think of it,” said Skeeter thoughtfully, “I heard a man yelp.” “Well, that’s the doggoneddest thing I ever heard!” exclaimed the little cowman. “Skeet, can’t yuh tell us why they’re aimin’ to ease you off this mortal coil?” “Yore guess is almost as good as mine, Fuzzy.” “Yeah, almost,” said Fuzzy dryly. “Emmy, why don’t you get into this discussion? Ain’t you got no ideas?” * * * * * Aunt Emma shook her head, and almost lost her glasses. “I reckon we might as well go to bed,” sighed Fuzzy, “unless yuh want to stay up, Skeet, so as not to disappoint ’em if they come out here to finish up on yuh.” “No, I think they’re too disappointed to try again tonight.” They were getting ready for bed, when they heard horses coming up to the house. Fuzzy went over by the door, waiting for the visitors to knock when a voice called: “Fuzzy, this is Al Creedon!” “The law is among us,” whispered Fuzzy, and opened the door. It was the sheriff, with his deputy, Muddy Poole. Skeeter Bill was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, and called a greeting to the officers. “Ridin’ late, ain’t yuh, Al?” asked Fuzzy. “Kinda. Glad yuh’re home, Skeeter. We hoped you’d be.” “What’s eatin’ yuh, Al?” asked Skeeter curiously. “About what happened tonight--at Edwards’ house, Skeet. Several of us heard the two shots fired, but we had a hard time findin’ where it was. Mrs. Edwards told us that it happened in front of her place, and that you said you was all right.” “That’s right,” admitted Skeeter. “Somebody tried to rope me in the dark.” “He’s still got rope-burns on his eye and nose,” said Aunt Emma. The sheriff nodded. “Skeeter,” he said, “did you know a feller named Dutch Held?” Skeeter Bill shook his head. “I don’t believe I ever did, Al.” “I’ve heard of him,” said Fuzzy. “They say he’s a bad boy.” “Was,” said the sheriff. “Skeet, how many times did you shoot?” “Once. Somebody shot at me, too. Just two shots fired. I’ve got a kind of hunch that I hit somebody.” “So have I,” said the sheriff quietly. Skeeter Bill looked sharply at the sheriff. “What do yuh mean, Al?” he asked curiously. “Where was yore horse, when you started to climb on him?” “Why--right in front of the gate.”