“Because they thought you knew too much. They wanted to make Fuzzy Davis sell the Bar D. That’s why Keenan hired Greer, and Greer was an old bunkie of Dutch Held. Greer was the best shot in the state. He says he shot Dutch accidentally, when Dutch ducked in front of him. He was tryin’ to kill you, Skeeter. That’s all I know. But I didn’t murder anybody--honest, I didn’t!” Muddy Poole snapped handcuffs on Slim Lacey and headed for the jail with him. Keenan wasn’t dead, but badly hurt. They carried him outside; he was conscious. He said to Al Creedon and the prosecutor: “Mrs. Edwards can have the Tumblin’ K--it’s hers. Where’s Skeeter Bill?” “Right here, Sam,” replied the sheriff, pushing the tall cowpuncher forward. Sam Keenan scowled up at Skeeter Bill, his voice weakening, as he said: “You win, Sarg. But I’d like to live long enough to kill Doc Higgins over at Silver Springs, for tellin’ you that he doctored a bullet-wound on me the day they got Hooty.” Skeeter Bill hunched down lower, his face grim, as he said: “Yuh’re wrong, Sam. Doc didn’t tell me that. Yuh see, he wasn’t comin’ back to Silver Springs until today, so I couldn’t wait.” “You--uh--” Keenan blinked painfully, as he realized what had happened. Then he said, “But you found that matchin’ thirty-thirty shell, Skeeter.” “No, I didn’t, Sam,” denied Skeeter. “I tried to, but the blamed extractor flung the shell through a crack in the porch floor, and I didn’t have a chance to shoot twice.” “What did yuh have?” whispered Keenan. “All I had was a rawhide honda, which I found at Fuzzy’s spring, after the wires was torn loose. It’s got a JG mark, done with a hot wire. That sounded like Johnny Greer, and that’s all I had--except the knowledge that when a man’s guilty, he’ll fall for a lie, and you was guilty, Sam.” Skeeter Bill turned away. Fuzzy, Aunt Emma, Margie Edwards and her two children were talking excitedly. Fuzzy said, “We’ll have Hooty back here in two shakes, I tell yuh. You’ll own the Tumblin’ K, too. Whooee-ee! Ole Skeet shore mussed up that rat’s nest in a hurry, didn’t yuh, Skeet? I jist shook hands with Dan Houk. We was both so darned excited that we forgot to be enemies. He invited me to have a drink, but Emmy was listenin’. Well, darn yore long hide, why don’tcha say somethin’?” Skeeter Bill smiled slowly, his eyes shifting from face to face, until he was looking at young Bill Edwards, his blue eyes slightly red, cheeks just a trifle tear-stained. His eyes were just a bit wide, as he looked at Skeeter Bill. Skeeter Bill said, very softly: “Happy Birthday, Bill!” “It--sure--is,” whispered young Bill, and Skeeter walked away, yanking his hat down over his eyes. [Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the Fall, 1948 issue of _Giant Western_ magazine.]