"Keep calm, Walton, here's one;" the bartender handed out a small mirror. Silently Walton gazed at hair and beard of vivid emerald green. The venomous glitter of his eyes was like that of an angry rattlesnake. He laid the glass down and spoke with a voice that was quiet, but deadly. "Some one put Dunning up to this, and I'll find out who it was, before I get through." He flung out of the place and the men in the room glanced at one another. They knew that some day, somebody would pay. Walton was a man whose debts of personal animus, never outlawed by time, were sure to be settled in full with compound interest. CHAPTER NINE "The boys don't mean no harm, but it jest seems they can't come to town without things happenin' when they mix in," Limber had said when he parted from Powell. The cowpuncher went to the corral, mounted his pony and rode down the railroad track to the shipping pens. The cattle were in good shape, gates fastened securely. No matter what the short-comings of the boys of the Diamond H, they never slighted any detail of the work; but Limber felt the responsibility of it all. When Peanut was properly cared for, his master ambled carelessly along the street until he reached the swinging doors of the bar-room of the Willcox Hotel. "Any of my outfit here?" he asked the man behind the bar. "I jest got in from Hot Springs with Doctor Powell." A number of men in the place called to him, others came nearer Limber and held out hands, and he was the centre of a small group when he uttered his next words. "The Apaches killed ol' Doctor King last night in the Hot Springs Canon below the Circle Cross. We jest brung in his body for the Coroner." Exclamations of sincere regret were voiced by his hearers, for each of them could recall little acts of kindliness to himself or to some one he knew. Limber was plied with questions, and gave the meagre details, but he did not speak of the narrow escape of Mrs. Glendon and her child. Comments were interrupted as the doors swung back once more. Bronco, Holy and Roarer stood bunched together and surveyed the assemblage with brooding eyes. Then, they saw Limber. Their solemn countenances lightened, and Bronco grasped the foreman's arm, leading him to a table at the rear of the room, where they all slumped into chairs. Limber studied each face. "Well, what have you done this time?" he asked in a resigned voice. "Say, Limber, we're in a hell of a mess," confessed Bronco abjectly. The other two punchers confirmed the assertion by silence. "We was waitin' for you to get us straightened out, someway." Limber made no comment until the situation had been fully explained, but his eyes were anxious and his lips harboured no smile. "It ain't a question now of how we got into it," he finally said, assuming the onus of the episode with the culprits, as a matter of course.