“What I want to know, Pringle, is, how the deuce you got up here so slick?” said Nueces.

“Oh, that’s easy!  I can run a mile in nothing flat.”

“Oh—­that’s it?  You hid in the water pen?”

“Under the troughs.  Bright idea of yours, them fires!  I knew just where not to go.  After you left I hooked a horse.  If you’d had sense enough to go with the sheriff and eat your supper like a human being I’d ‘a’ hooked two horses, and Chris and me would now be getting farther and farther.  I don’t want you ever to do that again.  Suppose Chris had killed me when I tried to knock him out?  Fine large name I would ‘a’ left for myself, wouldn’t I?”

“If you had fought it out with us,” said Breslin musingly, “you would have been killed—­both of you; and you would have killed others.  Mr. Pringle, you have done a fine thing.  I apologize to you.”

“Why, that all goes without saying, my boy.  As for my part—­why, I don’t bother much about a blue tin heaven or a comic-supplement hell, but I’m right smart interested in right here and now.  It’s a right nice little old world, take it by and large, and I like to help out at whatever comes my way, if it takes fourteen innings.  But, so long as you feel that way about it, maybe you’ll believe me now, when I say that Christopher Foy was with me all last night and he didn’t shoot Dick Marr.”

“That’s right,” said Foy.  “I don’t know who killed Dick Marr; but I do know that Creagan, Joe Espalin, and Applegate intended to kill me last night.  They gave me back my sixshooter, that Ben Creagan had borrowed—­and it was loaded with blanks.  Then they pitched onto me, and if it hadn’t been for Pringle they’d have got me sure!  We left town at eleven o’clock and rode straight to the Vorhis Ranch.”

“I believe you,” said Anastacio.  “You skip along now, Chris. You’re fit to ride.”

“Why shouldn’t I stay and see it out?”

“It won’t do.  For one thing, your thinker isn’t working as per invoice,” said Nueces River.  “You’re in no fix to do yourself justice.  We’ll look after your interests.  You know some of the posse might be coming back, askin’ fool questions.  Pull your freight up to the Bar Cross till we send for you.”

“Well—­if you think Pringle isn’t running any risks I’ll go.”

“We’ll take care of Pringle.  Guess we’ll make him sheriff next fall, maybe—­just to keep Anastacio in his place.  Drift!”

“No sheriffin’ for mine, thanks.  Contracting is my line.  Subcontracting!”

“So long, boys!  You know what I’d like to say.  You gave me a square deal, you three chaps,” said Foy.  “Get word to Stella as soon as ever you can.  She thinks I’m a prisoner, you know.  You know what I want to say there, Pringle—­tell her for me....  Say!  Why don’t you all go in now?  You boys all know that Stella’s engaged to me, don’t you?  What’s the good of keeping her in suspense?  Go on to the ranch, right away.”