Up the street Jimmy stood beside his horse and thumped and scratched the yellow dog until its rolling eyes bespoke a bliss unutterable and its tail could not wag because of sheer ecstasy. "Purp," he said gravely, "never play jokes on a pore unfortunate an’ git careless. Don’t never forget it. Last time I was here they abused me shameful. Now that th’ storm has busted an’ this is gettin’ calm-like, you an’ me ’ll go back an’ get a good look at th’ asylum," he suggested, vaulting into the saddle and starting toward the store. No invitation was needed because the dog had adopted him on the spot. And the next morning, when Jimmy and Bill, loaded with poker-gained wealth, rode out of town and headed south, the dog trotted along in the shadow made by Jimmy’s horse and glanced up from time to time in hopeful expectancy and great affection. A distant, flat pistol shot made them turn around in the saddle and look back. A group of the leading citizens of Sharpsville stood in front of the Emporium and waved hats in one last, and glad farewell. Now that Jimmy had left town, they altered their sudden plans and decided to continue to populate the town of Sharpsville. V THE LUCK OF FOOLS "Did you ever see a dog like Asylum?" demanded Jimmy, looking fondly at the mongrel as they rode slowly the second day after leaving Sharpsville. Bill shook his head emphatically. "Never, nowheres." Jimmy turned reproachfully. "Lookit how he ’s follered us." "Follered _you_," hastily corrected Bill. "He ought to. You feed an’ scratch him, an’ he ’ll go anywhere for that. But he ’s big," he conceded. "Mostly wolf-hound," guessed Jimmy, proudly. "He looks like a wolf—God help it—at th’ end of a hard winter." "Well, he ain’t yourn!" "An’ won’t be, not if I can help it." "He ain’t no good, is he?" sneered Jimmy. "I wouldn’t say that, Kid," grunted Bill. "You know there ’s good _Injuns_; but he looks purty healthy right now. Why did n’t you call him Hank? They look—Good G—d!" he exclaimed as he glanced through an opening in the hills. The ring of ashes that had been a corral still smoldered, and smoke arose fitfully from the caved-in roof of the adobe bunkhouse, whose beams, weakened by fire, had fallen under their heavy load. "Injuns!" whispered Jimmy. "Not gone long, neither. Mebby they ain’t all—ain’t all—" he faltered, thinking of what might lie under the roof. Bill, nodding, rode hurriedly to the ruins, wheeled sharply and returned, shaking his head slowly. There was no need to explain Apache methods to his companion, and he spoke of the Indians instead. "They split. About a dozen in th’ big party an’ about eight in th’ other. It looks sorta serious, Kid." Jimmy nodded. "I reckon so. An’ they ’re usually where nobody wants ’em, anyhow. Would n’t Sharpsville be disgusted if they went north? But let’s get out of here, ’less you got some plan to bag a couple."