When Carver reached the home ranch a man waited there to inform him that Carl Mattison desired his presence in Oval Springs. “Tell him I’ll be with him between now and to-morrow noon,” Carver instructed the messenger. Bart Lassiter rode up to the house an hour before dark. Carver had expected him to wait until after nightfall before riding in and had planned to intercept him before he reached the house. “Why didn’t you lay out somewhere under cover till it was dark?” he demanded. “Any of the neighbors see you straddling my horse?” “A few of ’em, likely,” Bart returned. “What if they did? I was half starved and got dead sick of waiting out there in the creek bottoms.” Carver took him into the house and dressed the wounded shoulder. It proved to be a clean hole, the ball having passed through the fleshy parts without touching a bone. Bart spoke but seldom while the wound was being dressed. He seemed gloomy and morose, his usual carefree outlook entirely lacking for the time. “It was the devil’s own luck, getting jumped just when I did,” he stated at last. “Your bad luck set in prior to that,” Carver returned. “It started when you met Noll and Milt.” Bart nodded, then suddenly gazed at Carver in surprise. “But how did you know I’d met them?” he asked. “I didn’t have time to tell you back there where we changed mounts.” “It wasn’t hard to guess,” Carver said. “Then you must know Noll better than I do, if you guessed that,” said Bart. “I didn’t think the poison hound would shoot me down without a word.” “What?” Carver asked. “Noll, you say! D’you mean he shot you?” “No other,” Bart affirmed. “The four of them rode up on me before I knew they were anywheres within fifty miles.” “What four?” Carver inquired. “Milt, Noll and Freel,” Bart informed. “I don’t know who the fourth was. Didn’t hear his voice. I was afoot and looking for my horse when they came riding along. I couldn’t see who they were but Noll was talking to Freel and I knew their voices. They were riding in front. I asked ’em to raise another horse and save me a twenty-mile walk and they halted without a word at the sound of my voice. Then Noll shot. He cut down on me twice more after I hit the ground. One shot was close enough to fill my right ear full of sand. Milt jumped his horse against Noll’s, cussing him meanwhile, and they was off at a run before I could pick myself up.” Carver was conscious of a vague sense of relief coupled with knowledge of previous deductions gone astray. “Where were you yesterday?” he asked. “Sleeping in the house you once owned in Caldwell, with my horse in the shed out behind,” Bart informed. “It’s untenanted now so I entered by the simple process of breaking a window. I recall that it had been a wild night in Caldwell and was near daylight when I went to bed. It was equally near dark when I waked. The festivities had palled on me and I was ready to go home so I rode out of town.”