Suddenly he started from his lounging place, caught his hat more firmly over his eyes, threw away his unlighted cigarette and hurried across the veranda of the hotel.  Had he seen an enemy to chastise, or an old friend to greet, or a pretty girl?  No, it was only old Jud Harding, the blacksmith, whose hand had lost its strength, but who still worked iron as others mold putty, simply because he had the genius for his craft.  He was staggering now under a load of boards which he had shouldered to carry to his shop.  In a moment that load was shifted to the shoulder of Ronicky Doone, and they went on down the street, laughing and talking together until the load was dropped on the floor of Harding’s shop.

“And how’s the sick feller coming?” asked Harding.

“Coming fine,” answered Ronicky.  “Couple of days and I’ll have him out for a little exercise.  Lucky thing it was a clean wound and didn’t nick the bone.  Soon as it’s healed over he’ll never know he was plugged.”

Harding considered his young friend with twinkling eyes.  “Queer thing to me,” he said, “is how you and this gent Gregg have hit it off so well together.  Might almost say it was like you’d shot Gregg and now was trying to make up for it.  But, of course, that ain’t the truth.”

“Of course not,” said Ronicky gravely and met the eye of Harding without faltering.

“Another queer thing,” went on the cunning old smith.  “He was fooling with that gun while he was in the saddle, which just means that the muzzle must of been pretty close to his skin.  But there wasn’t any sign of a powder burn, the doc says.”

“But his trousers was pretty bad burned, I guess,” said Ronicky.

“H-m,” said the blacksmith, “that’s the first time I’ve heard about it.”  He went on more seriously:  “I got something to tell you, Ronicky.  Ever hear the story about the gent that took pity on the snake that was stiff with cold and brought the snake in to warm him up beside the fire?  The minute the snake come to life he sunk his fangs in the gent that had saved him.”

“Meaning,” said Ronicky, “that, because I’ve done a good turn for Gregg, I’d better look out for him?”

“Meaning nothing,” said Harding, “except that the reason the snake bit the gent was because he’d had a stone heaved at him by the same man one day and hadn’t forgot it.”

But Ronicky Doone merely laughed and turned back toward the hotel.

Chapter Four

His Victim’s Trouble

Yet he could not help pondering on the words of old Harding.  Bill Gregg had been a strange patient.  He had never repeated his first offer to tell his story.  He remained sullen and silent, with his brooding eyes fixed on the blank wall before him, and nothing could permanently cheer him.  Some inward gloom seemed to possess the man.