He thumped the bed with the edge of his hand in imitation of a bare foot descending upon the floor. “Killed while resisting arrest,” he said to himself, his mind working swiftly. “This is just a plain old-fashioned killing. Freel knows I wouldn’t be so simple as to start shooting over being picked up on a fool charge like this. I’d take it more as a joke. He’ll step in to talk it over while Noll pots me from outside. Neighbors hear shots--a regular battle in progress--and later, at the inquest, it transpires that my gun’s been shot empty. They can prove that Cherokees have been buying bottles here, whether I did it or not, and Freel, having heard about it, had come out to investigate. I put up a desperate fight but went down in the smoke--died hard as it were, but real dead. But they wouldn’t do it before I was dressed. That might appear like they’d slaughtered me in my sleep.” Meanwhile he commented in disjointed fragments to Freel. “I’ll go on down with you and explain it. It’s a right foolish charge.” He was now fully dressed. “They’ll let me out by to-morrow so it don’t matter any.” And to himself, “After Noll’s first shot there’s two from inside. Neighbors look out into the moonlight. Freel has ducked back outside and they see him prone on the ground shooting into the house. He rushes the open door, calling out to me to surrender in the name of the law, and the neighbors all hear him. There’s sounds of a struggle inside; chairs overturned, and there’s shooting. A regular hell-roaring combat--and me dead on the floor all the time.” He moved to the window. Lassiter was nowhere in sight. “Flat against the house between the window and the door,” he decided; then aloud to Freel, “Anyone with you?” “Not a soul,” Freel lied. “Better so; maybe we can figure out some little bet whereby it would be to your advantage to help me come clear of this charge.” He was now fully clothed and he crossed to the door without permitting his boot heels to touch the floor. “Can’t find a match,” he complained, fumbling at the catch. “Come in and strike a light while I hop into my clothes. I’m in my nightie.” He opened the door, standing back from the streak of moonlight which streamed through. Freel would shoot if he saw that Carver was already dressed. “I’ll just wait here,” Freel said. “And pot me as I step out,” Carver mentally completed. “You’ll be out on bond in an hour,” Freel resumed. His head was within a foot of the door as he attempted to peer inside. Carver swung his gun with deadly precision and Freel collapsed without a word as the heavy weapon descended solidly upon his skull. Before the deputy had fairly struck the ground Carver was peering round the door jamb with the gun levelled on Lassiter who was flattened against the house some three feet from the door. “Steady! Let it slide out of your hand!” Carver ordered.