“Uh-huh. That makes the corner of the fence about twenty feet away. Well, Skeeter, we found Dutch Held at the corner of the fence, dead as a door-knob. He had one bullet through his right arm. In fact, it busted his arm at the elbow. The other bullet was in the back of his head. That one killed him instantly.” Skeeter Bill stared thoughtfully at the floor. That other shot had not been fired at him, but into the back of Dutch Held’s head. Fuzzy said, “It don’t make sense, Al.” “What do you think, Skeeter?” asked Muddy Poole. “There’s only one thing to think, Muddy,” replied Skeeter Bill. “The man who was with Dutch Held didn’t want to fool around with a crippled man, so he blasted him down.” “That would be a terrible thing to do!” exclaimed Aunt Emma. “Would yuh mind doin’ a little talkin’, Skeet?” asked the sheriff. Skeeter Bill smiled slowly. “Go ahead,” he said, “I ain’t got no favorite subjects, so select yore poison, Al.” “One of the boys from this spread intimated that somebody tried to murder you this mornin’, Skeeter. They tried it again tonight. It just happens that I’m the sheriff of this county and things like that are my business. What’s yore opinion?” “I agree with yuh, Sheriff. Go right ahead and find out who is tryin’ to kill me. It’s all right with me.” “You mean you don’t know?” “Sheriff,” replied Skeeter Bill seriously, “if I knew--sure--yuh don’t think I’d be waitin’ for them to try it again, do yuh?” “Like I told yuh on the way out here, Al, we’re wastin’ our time,” said Muddy Poole. The sheriff sighed and got to his feet. “I reckon yuh’re right, Muddy. I hope I see you again, Skeeter.” “That’s a cinch,” said Skeeter soberly. “You go ahead and hope that I can see you.” After the two officers had gone, Skeeter Bill said: “Fuzzy, what do yuh know about this Dutch Held?” “Well, he was a bad boy, Skeet. Suspected of rustlin’, horse-stealin’, smugglin’--finally, murder. Shot a feller in a holdup in Yuma. Dutch used to be around here once in a while, when he worked for the Double Circle Seven, north of Silver Springs. I hadn’t heard anythin’ about him lately.” “Much obliged, Fuzzy. Well, folks I reckon we can go to bed and get a good sleep. I think that somebody is awful disappointed over tonight’s work--and it ain’t me. Goodnight, folks.” “You better say your prayers,” advised Aunt Emma. Skeeter grinned at her and said, “Aunt Emma, how about you doin’ it for me? My prayers never seemed to go high enough to do any good.” “I’d like that,” said Fuzzy seriously. “It’ll give her less time to implore the Lord to make me a better man. I dunno who she’s holdin’ up as an example.” VI