The experiment brought no disaster.  He finished his smoke undisturbed, and went back to reading.

The hours dragged slowly past.  Noon came and went; mid-afternoon was upon him.  His watch showed a few minutes past four when he decided on another smoke.  From the corner of his pocket he raked the loose tobacco into the bowl of his pipe, and pressed it down.  Presently he was again puffing in pleasant serenity.

Suddenly there came a blinding flash and a roar.

Buck started to his feet in amazement, the stem of the pipe still in his mouth, the bowl shattered into a hundred bits.  His first thought was that he had been the target for a sharpshooter.  There was a neat hole through the framework of the window case, showing where the bullet had plowed.  But an investigation left him in the air; for the direction of the bullet hole was such that, if anybody from outside had fired it, he must have been up in a balloon.

The explanation came to him like a flash.  In raking the tobacco into his pipe with his fingers, he must have pressed into the bowl a stray cartridge left some time in the pocket.  This had gone off after the heat had reached the powder.

By the time he had reached this conclusion some one came running along the passage and tried the locked door.  After some rattling at the knob, the footsteps retreated.  Buck could hear excited voices.

“Coming back in force, I’ll bet,” he told himself, with a dubious grin.

The fat was surely in the fire now.

Footsteps made themselves heard again, this time in numbers.  The door was tried cautiously.  A voice demanded admittance sharply.

Buck opened the door and gazed at the intruders in mild surprise.  Old Sanderson and Phil were there, together with Slim and a cow-puncher known as Cuffs.  All of them were armed.

“Want to come in, gentlemen?” Weaver asked.

“So you’re here, are you?” spoke up Phil.

“That’s right.  I’m here, sure enough.”

“How long you been here?”

“Been hanging round the place ever since my escape.  You kept so close a watch I couldn’t make my getaway.  Some time the other side of noon I drifted in here, figuring some of you would drive me from cover by accident during the day if I stayed out in the chaparral.  This room looked handy, so I made myself right at home and locked the door.  I hate to shoot up a lady’s boudoir, but looks like that’s what I’ve done.”

“You durn fool!  Who were you shooting at?” Phil asked contemptuously.

But his father stepped forward, and with a certain austere dignity, more menacing than threats, took the words out of the mouth of his son.

“I think I’ll negotiate this, Phil.”

Buck explained the accident amiably, and relieved himself of the imputation of idiocy.  “Serves a man right for smoking without permission in a lady’s room,” he admitted humorously.