The stranger seemed unusually affable in the morning. He made the fire, and, before Sundown had finished eating, had the two ponies saddled and ready for the road. Sundown thought him a little too agreeable. He was even more perplexed when the man said that he had changed his mind and would ride to Antelope with him. "Thought you said you was goin' to the Concho?" "Well, seeing you say Jack can't ride yet, guess I'll wait." "He can talk, all right," asserted Sundown. The other paid no apparent attention to this remark but rode along pointing out landmarks and discoursing largely upon the weather, the feed, and price of hay and grain and a hundred topics associated with ranch-life. Sundown, forgetful of his pose as a vaquero of long standing (unintentional), assumed rather the attitude of one absorbing information on such topics than disseminating it. Nor did he understand the stranger's genial invitation to have supper with him at Antelope that night, as they rode into the town. He knew, however, that he was creating a sensation, which he attributed to his Mexican spurs and chaps. People stared at him as he stalked down the street and turned to stare again. His companion seemed very well known in Antelope. Nearly every one spoke to him or waved a greeting. Yet there was something peculiar in their attitudes. There was an aloofness about them that was puzzling. "He sure looks like the bad man from Coyote Gulch," remarked one who stood in front of "The Last Chance" saloon. "He ain't heeled," asserted the speaker's companion. "Heeled! Do you reckon Jim's plumb loco? Jim took care of that." All of which was music to Sundown. He was making an impression, yet he was not altogether happy. He did not object to being classed as a bad man so long as he knew at heart that he was anything but that. Still, he was rather proud of his instant notoriety. They stopped in front of a square, one-story building. Sundown's companion unlocked the door. "Come on in," he said. "We'll have a smoke and talk things over." "But I was to see Mr. Kennedy the lawyer," asserted Sundown. "So? Well, it ain't quite time to see him yet." Sundown's back became cold and he stared at the stranger with eyes that began to see the drift of things. "You ain't a cop, be you?" he asked timorously. "They call it 'sheriff' here." "Well, I call it kind o' warm and I'm goin' outside." "I wouldn't. One of my deputies is sitting just across the street. He's a mighty good shot. Can beat me hands down. Suppose you drop back in your chair and tell me what you know about the shooting of Fadeaway." "Me? You ain't joshin', be you?" "Never more serious in my life! I'm interested in this case." "Well, I ain't!" was Sundown's prompt remark. "And I got to go. I'm goin' on privut business for me boss and confidenshell. Me and Chance." "That's all right, my friend. But I have some private and confidential business that can't wait."