“Oh, that’s all right,” said Brick pleasantly. “I just thought yuh might be one of the sufferers.” Meecham stared at him closely. “What do you mean, Davidson?” he asked. “Oh, I just didn’t know but what somebody had tried to kill you off, too. There’s a bullet-hole in the cantle of yore saddle, yuh know.” “A bullet-hole?” Meecham’s tone had been rather loud and attracted the attention of every one. Leach came back toward the bar, and the two cowpunchers stopped their pool playing to listen. “In yore saddle,” nodded Brick. “Of course, it ain’t likely that you was in the saddle at the time, Meecham.” “Well, I—you see that horse and saddle belongs to the livery-stable. I merely rented it.” “What about the bullet-hole?” asked Leach. “I don’t know anything about it,” declared Meecham. “It must have been there when I got it.” “They’d know at the stable,” opined Silent. “Yeah, that’s right,” agreed Brick, “McKeever would know.” “Let’s take a squint at that saddle,” suggested Grant. “It might not be a bullet-hole.” “Well, what if it was!” snorted Ike Welden. “My ——, yo’re makin’ a lot of fuss about a bullet-hole in a saddle. You act like it had hit all of yuh.” Silent turned and looked at Ike. “Welden, yo’re breedin’ a lot of misery for yourself,” he declared. “I dumped yuh into the street once, yuh remember. Last night somebody swiped my bronc—and I better not find out that it was you.” “You tryin’ to make out that I stole yore bronc, Slade?” “If I thought yuh did I’d fill yuh so ——ed full of holes that they’d have to use ce-ment instead of embalmin’-fluid, if they wanted yuh to keep.” “Yeah, I s’pose,” Ike sneered openly, but was careful to keep his hands above waist-level. He was the equal of any man on the draw, but he was afraid of this big man—afraid that he might not be able to stop him. “Don’t argue with that worm,” said Harp impatiently. “He ain’t goin’ to take any chances. Now, if it was dark and he had a tree or a rock in front of him—aw, c’mon, Silent.” They went out through the doorway, leaving Ike to swear and buy himself a drink. At the hitch-rack they examined the saddle. There was no doubt of it being a bullet-hole. The saddle was a cheap affair, and the bullet had smashed through the cantle, but was lodged between the wood and the leather covering of the back. With a slash of his knife Brick cut through the leather and salvaged the bullet, which was so badly battered that it was impossible, except by weight, to tell what caliber it had been. “Well,” said Grant dryly, “there ain’t much question about it bein’ a bullet-hole.” “Yeah, it is a bullet-hole,” admitted Leach, although he did not seem greatly concerned over it. “Well, I don’t know anything about it.” Meecham was inclined to be a trifle peevish over it. “I hired this horse and saddle to ride up here and see how Mr. Caswell was getting along, and if they gave me a saddle with a bullet-hole in it——”