It was not the best idea in the world. Bud began to suspect that earlier in the evening. But his self-defense was adequate enough. Both the girl and the man were too obstinate to listen to reason and summary methods had to be employed for their own good. They were just like two fighters who struggled long after the original injury had been dead and buried. Now the only thing a man could do with stubborn pride was blast it. What he meant to do was put a bullet through that window and shatter a pane of glass. That would give the girl a much-needed scare, sort of shake her confidence in her own strength. If, on hearing that shot, Jim Hunter didn’t rush over to her house he, Dave Bud, would be greatly mistaken in his man. And if that threat of danger, always a welding influence, didn’t change their relations, he’d be mighty disappointed. He brought the gun down on the bright window, taking care that the shot would break a pane and bury itself in the sill. There was, of a sudden, a pad-pad of feet on the ground, an alarming rush of a body that went past him, wheeled like a football player, and bore down. Bud’s revolver arm fell; a low figure hurtled from the shadows, struck him amidships, closed about him, and knocked him over with the savageness of a hungry cinnamon bear. The storekeeper’s teeth rattled, he bit his chin and choked in the sand. A rock struck his head and nearly put him to sleep. Quite instinctively he put up both huge arms--he had dropped the gun--and pushed his assailant off; but before he could take advantage the man had thrown himself back again. A fist smacked against his temple and a familiar voice reached his half-buried ears. “You sneaking coyote! Thought you’d raise the devil in another lonely house, eh? Thought you’d scare another woman half to death! I’ve been laying for you. Next time maybe you’ll cache your horse where a man won’t stumble across it. I’m just about going to kill you, you Bottle-nose skunk!” It was Jim Hunter on the warpath! And mistaking him for Bottle-nose Henderson! Bud’s mind worked in circles, amid a confusion of blows, a ton of sand, and smarting eyes. He had to get out of here in a hurry, no mistake. It wouldn’t do for Jim to discover his identity. Jim wouldn’t consider him in any better light, wouldn’t understand. He had overlooked the fact that the young man would patrol the girl’s home after dark and in patrolling run across Toby. The thing now was to make an exit and call it a bad venture. He stifled a groan of protest. It was a darned good thing Jim had never seen Bottle-nose and noted the man’s skinny shape. The storekeeper raised hands and feet, throwing Hunter back like a blanket, got up, and dashed toward Toby. By golly, but this was a mess. Look where he’d got himself in trying to do a good deed!