He tied his horse, swore a little under his breath as he stepped up on the sidewalk, and then he saw Skeeter Bill. He didn’t say anything at once. He blinked, looked away, adjusted his neckerchief and cleared his throat raspingly. Then he looked at Skeeter once more. “Mebbe,” he remarked quietly, “it’s the heat, and ag’in mebbe it’s my general run-down condition but doggone it--you look like somebody I’ve known. Set my mind at rest, will yuh?” “Hyah yuh, Fuzzy,” Skeeter Bill said with a grin. “You ole _pelicano_!” snorted Fuzzy. “You darned ole-- How are yuh, Skeet?” “Finer’n the down on a gnat, Fuzzy. Set down, you little anteater. How’ve yuh been, anyway?” Fuzzy sat down and drew a deep breath. “I’m terrible,” he whispered. “I’m mad, and when I’m mad, I’m terrible.” “You look fine, Fuzzy.” “That’s the whole trouble with me, Skeet. The finer I look, the worse I am. I’ll betcha that when I’m dead, they’ll say, ‘Well, well, there’s Fuzzy Adams, I never seen him look better.’” “You ain’t sick, are yuh?” asked Skeeter Bill. * * * * * Frowning, the pint-sized rancher shook his head. “Shucks, no! I’m mad, I tell yuh! Listen, will yuh? This mornin’ I went over to my big water-hole at Hangin’ Rock. You know the place. It’s fenced, along with about seven hundred acres. Water’s scarce around here, and there was only enough for my few dogies. Well, sir, some sticky-rope son-of-a-gun had tied off on about a quarter-mile of almost new barb-wire all over creation. My spring was almost dry and around it was every blasted Tomahawk, JML and Tumblin’ K cow in the valley.” “That,” remarked Skeeter Bill, “don’t sound like a joke.” “It wasn’t intended as no joke, Skeet. The ends was cut as slick as a whistle. I dunno if I’ll ever git that water-hole cleaned out and built up again. See why I’m mad? Yuh do? Well, yuh’re an observin’ sort of a feller, Skeet. How come yore back here, and where yuh been?” “Been down in Texas, Fuzzy. Yuh see, I--well, you knew that Hooty Edwards named his boy after me, didn’t yuh?” “Hooty,” replied Fuzzy, “was prone to do fool things. Go on with yore alibi, son.” “Well, I came back to help the kid celebrate his twelfth birthday, Fuzzy. And look what I found out!” “Yuh mean--about Hooty? Oh, yeah. Well, that was bad, Skeet. I’d have sworn that Hooty was honest, even if he did name his kid after you. Honest, but slightly ignorant, as yuh might say.” “I appreciate yore sympathy for the boy,” said Skeeter soberly. “But just what are yuh goin’ to do about that water-hole?” “Me? What am I goin’ to do about it? Huh! I’m goin’ to get the sheriff to swear out a warrant for Dan Houk. Me and him ain’t friends, yuh understand. We ain’t been for years. It’s jist like the big spit-in-the-crick to do a thing like that.” “Any proof, Fuzzy?”