He ordered a dozen eggs, two loaves of bread, a three-pound slab of bacon, two quarts of milk, a pound of coffee, a peck of potatoes, and mindful of the youngster at the cabin, a head of lettuce and a bunch of carrots. To these purchases he added a broom, four panes of glass to replace those broken out of the cabin, putty with which to hold them, a lantern, a gallon of kerosene, and finally, "A half dozen eight gauge shotgun shells." "I've nothing but number fours in eight gauge." "They'll do and I want to stick them in my pocket." Abel Tarkman looked doubtfully at the rest. "It's a lot to carry." "Put it in gunny sacks. I'll manage." Tarkman reached beneath the counter for a gunny sack and said amiably, "Fishing?" "Loafing," Jeff answered. "Nothing strenuous." "Staying long?" "I don't know." "Where you staying?" "Blazer's cabin." Abel Tarkman's jaw tautened and he said no more. Jeff frowned. It was as though something cold had crept between them, and why should the mention of Blazer bring that about? Without speaking any more, the storekeeper totaled Jeff's bill on a piece of brown wrapping paper and Jeff paid in cash. Ordinarily he'd have tried to barter, but, though the pack was full, he still had ideas about trading with the hill people. Shouldering two half-filled gunny sacks, Jeff left the store. The sun had set, but enough light remained so that he could see. Between two far-spaced houses, and a sufficient distance from the store, Jeff took the six shotgun shells from one pocket and a knife from another. Carefully he pried the wadding from each shell and poured the shot out. Just as carefully replacing the shot with tightly-rolled bits of paper that he tore from his packages, he re-assembled the shells. Not forgotten was the fury of which Dan was capable. He had promised Jeff that he'd do no shooting on impulse, but Jeff wanted no accidents should Dan encounter a Whitney when he had the shotgun in his hands. Jeff was reassembling the last shell when, his badge shining in the day's last light, the man he'd seen in the store came to and paused beside him. "Howdy." "Howdy." "My name's Ellis," the constable said. "Bill Ellis and I'm constable here." "Jeff Tarrant," Jeff extended his hand. They shook and Bill Ellis asked, "You said you're staying at Blazer's cabin?" "That's right." "See anything of a youngster thereabouts?" "You mean Dan Blazer? Yes, he's there." "Then I guess I'd better walk out with you and pick him up. Poor little tad's all alone in the world." "No, he isn't. I'm taking care of him." Bill Ellis was suspicious. "Since when?" Jeff managed to sound more than a little astonished. "Didn't he tell you?" "All he did was walk through Smithville yesterday with a little sack over his shoulder and a shotgun big's a cannon in his arm. All he said was that he would meet somebody at the cabin. I waited this long to see if he really would."