Hollis's opinion of Dunlavey's motive in thus attacking him coincided with Norton's. They might easily have killed him. That they did not showed that they must have some peculiar motive. Aside from a perfectly natural desire on Dunlavey's part to deal to Hollis the same sort of punishment that Hollis had inflicted on Dunlavey on the occasion of their first meeting, the latter could have no motive other than that of preventing the appearance of the _Kicker_ on its regular publication day. Hollis was convinced that Dunlavey had been inspired by both motives. But though Dunlavey had secured his revenge for the blow that Hollis had struck him in Dry Bottom, Hollis did not purpose to allow him to prevent the appearance of the _Kicker_. It had been impossible for him to make the trip to Dry Bottom, but he had summoned Potter and had dictated considerable copy, Potter had written some, and in this manner they had managed to get the _Kicker_ out twice. Ace had not been able to get any of his poems into the _Kicker_. He had submitted some of them to Potter, but the printer had assured him that he did not care to assume the responsibility of publishing them. Thereupon Ace had importuned Norton to intercede with Hollis on his behalf. On his visit this morning Norton had brought the matter to Hollis's attention. The latter had assured the range boss that he appreciated the puncher's interest and would be glad to go over some of his poems. Therefore Hollis was not surprised when in the afternoon he saw Ace loping his pony down the Coyote trail toward the Hazelton cabin. Ace's approach was diffident, though ambition urged him on. He rode up to the edge of the porch, dismounted, and greeted his boss with an earnestness that contrasted oddly with his embarrassment. He took the chair that Hollis motioned him to, sitting on the edge of it and shifting nervously under Hollis's direct gaze. "I reckon Norton told you about my poems," he began. He caught Hollis's nod and continued: "Well, I got a bunch of 'em here which I brung over to show you. Folks back home used to say that I was a genyus. But I reckon mebbe they was hittin' her up a little bit strong," he admitted, modestly; "folks is that way--they like to spread it on a bit. But"--and the eyes of the genius flashed proudly--"I reckon I've got a little talyunt, the evidence of which is right here!" With rather more composure than had marked his approach he now drew out a prodigious number of sheets of paper, which he proceeded to spread out on his knee, smoothing them lovingly. "Mebbe I ain't much on spellin' an' grammar an' all that sort of thing," he offered, "but there's a heap of sense to be got out of the stuff I've wrote. Take this one, for instance. She's a little oday to 'Night,' which I composed while the boys was poundin' their ears one night--not bein' affected in their feelin's like I was. If you ain't got no objections I'll read her." And then, not waiting to hear any objections, he began: