Johnson was not one to take chances with an assassin. He began to pump his Winchester. At the second shot Bass's horse lurched forward on to his knees with a scream and stretched out, its legs stiff. His rider scrambled clear and shot Johnson through the fleshy part of his right forearm before he could pull again. The boss had drawn his six-shooter and was coming on. He coolly changed the weapon to his left hand and threw down on him at twenty yards. It had often been asserted in Badger that the sheriff could not miss at any distance under two hundred feet. This was scarcely an exaggeration. He had pulled only once when Bass held up empty hands in token of surrender. His gun lay on the ground and two fingers of his right hand were gone. "I reckon I ought to have killed you, Mordecai," said Lafe, "but I couldn't forget that me and you had slept under the same blankets. Do you remember that roundup on the Lazy L? What'd you do this for?" "I knew you'd think I did it," was all Bass said, and he began to make a ligature out of his handkerchief. "Well, get up here in front and come along. We've got twenty-one miles ahead of us. Let's go." "I know what you want me for," Bass said, "but you're wrong, Lafe. I didn't do it." "How do you know it was done, then?" said Lafe. "Only three of us knew when I left the ranch. That was five minutes after we done found him." His prisoner did not explain, but climbed obediently into the saddle in front of Johnson. Riding thus balanced, the horse could carry both, but it was punishing work, and not until eleven hours later did they make the county town. Lafe turned his prisoner over to the sheriff and saw him safely in jail under lock and key. As he was leaving, he said: "Here's your knife." "Where did you find it?" "Where you threw it." "I done lost it at the dance," said Bass. On this Johnson placed the knife in the sheriff's keeping, to be used as Exhibit A. When his arm had been dressed, he returned to the Anvil headquarters. All the guests had departed and, though Mrs. Horne was prostrated and the cowman much perturbed, the cowboys of the outfit had started on their roundup. A trifle like a murder must not interfere with business. When he had driven Hetty and the boy home, Lafe joined the chuckwagon at the camp on Bull Creek and took charge of operations. After supper on the first night Johnson took part in a game of pitch. It was not his habit to play with his men, as being subversive of discipline, but he was worried and needed distraction. Baptismo, the half-breed, was in the game. He was working through the roundup as strayman for the Gourd. Although Lafe lost, the play excited him to cheeriness and he began to drone, as he riffled the cards-- Oh, bury me not on the lone prairee, Where the wild ki-yotes will howl o'er me-- "What's the matter, Baptismo?" he asked suddenly.