His thoughts were interrupted by Bud, who said, with a knowing look at Clarke, "You’ll have to hand that gun over to me, Bill." "Will I?" Bud rose, and with a certain amount of assumed dignity said, "I demand it in my official capacity." As he moved towards Bill he felt Tabywana creeping behind him. Irritated, he turned and faced the Indian as he said, "Say, we ’ain’t got to take Indians into our confidence, have we?" Bill, who saw that he might accomplish more if left alone with Bud, said, kindly: "Tabywana, get Baco up, will you? I want him." Tabywana knew that he was dismissed, but he trusted Bill, so he only muttered a warning as he started to do his bidding. "All right, I can take care of myself, Chief." Then the Indian left him. "Come on, Bud, I call you. You got to show me your hand." "Well, if I want an election it’s up to me to make good with Cash’s outfit, ain’t it?" "So you’re due for a grandstand play, eh?" was Bill’s comment. The way events were shaping themselves worried him. These rough-shod political aspirations often led men like Hardy to play to the gallery in order to win a high-handed election. Bud went on, sure that Bill would see the reason of his adventure, "I have always had the bullet that killed Cash, and that’s been the only clew I’ve ever had." Dryly, Bill interrupted. "It hasn’t led you very far, Bud." But Bud did not notice Bill’s remark. Impressively he said: "It was a thirty-two. Now no man in this country ever carried a toy like that. That’s a woman’s weapon." Then slowly pointing to the revolver in Bill’s hand, he said, "That gun of Nat-u-ritch’s is a thirty-two." If this was all the evidence that Bud had, the case was not so serious after all, so, much relieved, Bill said, lightly: "Bud, you’re a joke. Because Nat-u-ritch happens to own a thirty-two—" Bud maliciously interposed: "Don’t be in such a hurry. The last time I was over to Maverick I happens to ask Nick, the barkeep, for a light, and he lets me help myself from a squaw’s beaded match-safe." Bud cautiously drew a tiny blue-and-green embroidered bag from his pocket. "’Hello,’ says I. ’Where did you get that?’ ’Oh,’ says he, ’I’ve had that for years—ever since the day that Cash Hawkins was killed. Found it in front of the side door down there.’ And I bought it of him then and there"—Bud looked straight into Bill’s eyes as he finished—"cause I recognized it as one I had tried to buy of Nat-u-ritch." But even this statement apparently did not startle Bill, who met Bud’s glance squarely as he said, "And so you jump at the conclusion that—" "Nat-u-ritch killed Cash Hawkins." Bud took him up. "There ain’t a doubt about it. You see that thirty-two is minus just the shot which she done it with." Bill paled a little. So Bud had noticed the missing bullet. He knew that since her marriage Nat-u-ritch had never carried the revolver. It had been put away on a shelf to be out of the child’s way.