“But how did you happen to be here so handy?” inquired Foy.

“Didn’t happen—­I did it on purpose,” said John Wesley.  “You see, these four birds tipped their hand.  All evening they been instructing me where I got off.  They would-ed I had the wings of a dove, so I might fly far, far away and be at rest.  Now, I put it to you, do I look like a dove?”

“Not at present,” laughed Foy.

“Well, I didn’t like it—­nobody would.  I see there was a hen on, I knew the lay of the ground from looking after my horse.  So I clomped off to bed, got my good old Excalibur gun—­full name X.L.V.  Caliber—­slipped off my boots, tippytoed down the back stairs like a Barred Rock cat, oozed in by the side door—­and here I be!  I overheard their pleasant little plan to do you.  I meant to do the big rescue act, but you mobilize too quick for me.  All the same, maybe it’s as well I chipped in, because—­take a look at them cartridges in your gun, will you?  Your own gun—­the one they borrowed from you.”

Foy twisted a bullet from a cartridge.  There was no powder.  The four men on the floor looked unhappy under his thoughtful eye.

“Nice little plant—­what?  Do we kill ’em?” said Pringle cheerfully.  “I don’t know the rules well enough to break them.  What was the big idea?  Was they vexed at you, son?”

“It would seem so,” said Foy, smiling.  “We had a little war here a spell back.  I suspect they wanted to stir it up again for political effect.  Election this fall.”

“And you were not in their party?  I see!” said Pringle, nodding intelligently, “Well, they sure had it fixed to make your side lose one vote—­fixed good and proper.  The Ben-boy was to let your right hand loose and the Joe-boy was to shoot you as you pulled your gun.  Why, if you had lived to make a statement your own story woulda mighty near let them out.”

“I believe that I am greatly obliged to you, sir.”

“I believe you are,” said Pringle.  “And—­but, also, I know the two gentlemen you were drinking with should be very grateful to you.  They had just half a second more to live—­and you beat me to it.  Too bad!  Well, what next?”

Foy pondered a little.

“I guess I’ll go up to the Bar Cross wagon, as I intended, till things simmer down.  The Las Uvas warriors seldom ever bother the Bar Cross Range.  My horse is hitched up the street.  How’d you like to go along with me, stranger?  You and me would make a fair-sized crowd.”

“I’d like it fine and dandy,” said Pringle.  “But I got a little visit to make to-morrow.  Maybe I’ll join you later.  I like Las Uvas,” stated John Wesley, beaming.  “Nice, lively little place!  I think I’ll settle down here after a bit.  Some of the young fellows are shy on good manners.  But I can teach ’em.  I’d enjoy it....  Now, let’s see:  If you’ll hold these lads a few minutes I’ll get my boots and saddle up and bring my horse to the door; then I’ll pay Max my hotel bill and talk to them while you get your horse; and we’ll ride together till we get out in the open.  How’s that for a lay?”