"I didn't hurt you, did I, Curt?" he asked anxiously, sinking back in his chair and looking at Conrad's arm, helpless in a sling. The bullet, they found, had nicked the top of the door and buried itself in the ceiling. "I was looking my revolver over when you knocked," Bancroft explained, "and had just been aiming at that spot on the wall. My finger must have pulled the trigger unconsciously. The thing's set to a hair, anyway. I must have it fixed. What's the matter with your arm, Curt?" In the revulsion of feeling that swept over him as he realized that the cattleman was as friendly as ever and that therefore his secret was still safe, he felt genuinely thankful that his bullet had gone wild. Conrad told of his fight with José Gonzalez. "You're getting the truth about it, Aleck," he went on; "but to everybody else I'm saying that I got horned by a steer, knocked over, and my collar bone cracked. I'm convinced it's some of Dell Baxter's work. I reckon I've been saying out loud just what he is too often to please him. But the letter I've sent him will buffalo him quick enough. José's a good cowboy, and I'm going to keep him. But I don't want the boys to know anything about our little scrap. So I'm saying it was a steer on the prod that did it." Bancroft's thoughts were active as he lighted his cigar. That check--it must have been Castleton money, to be handled for Johnny Martinez. Perhaps security might still be compassed without bloodshed. In thankfulness that he had not killed the man who was still his friend he revolted against the purpose of the Mexican, to which he knew in his soul he had given tacit consent. He did not want this cordial, confiding, good fellow struck down--if his own safety could be otherwise secured. "You'd better give the Mexican his time, Curt. He's locoed probably; when you get back you may find he's killed half your men." "Well, if he tries running a-muck in that gang," the superintendent responded cheerfully, "he'll never do anybody else any harm. Anyway, I've settled him for the present; I busted his knife and threw the pieces into the pond. No; he's in Dell's pay; that's all there is to it; and when Dell reads my letter he'll hike to call his man off. I don't expect any more trouble from José." Bancroft made no reply and Conrad went on: "By the way, Aleck, for a full minute yesterday I thought Baxter must be my man--the man I'm after, you know--Delafield. I've found out that he's somebody rich and respectable here in New Mexico, and when I felt that Baxter must be responsible for this attack on me, I lit on him for my meat. But it was too good to be true; as soon as I thought it over I saw that Baxter couldn't be Delafield. But they're two of a kind all right. Both of 'em have got their freight loaded ready to pull out for hell at the drop of a hat. Baxter will have to pull his in less than three jumps of a bucking horse if he doesn't call off his man. And Delafield will be pulling his mighty soon anyway."