“There ought to be something—­” began Jack Bates helplessly.

“There is.  If yuh’ll just put me away—­afterwards—­and say nothing,—­I’ll be—­mighty grateful.”  He was looking at them sharply, as if a great deal depended upon their answer.

The Happy Family was dazed.  The very suddenness of this unlooked-for glimpse into the somber eyes of Tragedy was unnerving.  The world had seemed such a jolly place; ten minutes ago—­five minutes, even, their greatest fear had been getting to the picnic too late for dinner.  And here was a man at their feet, calmly telling them that he was about to die, and asking only a hurried burial and a silence after.  Happy Jack swallowed painfully and shifted his feet in the grass.

“Of course, if yuh’d feel better handing me over—­”

“That’ll be about enough on that subject,” Pink interrupted with decision.  “Just because yuh happen to be down and out—­for the time being—­is no reason why yuh should insult folks.  You can take it for granted we’ll do what we can for yuh; the question is, what?  Yuh needn’ go talking about cashing in—­they’s no sense in it.  You’ll be all right.—­”

“Huh.  You wait and see.”  The fellow’s mouth set grimly upon another groan.  “If you was shot through, and stuck to the saddle—­and rode—­and then got pummeled—­by a creek at flood, and if yuh laid out in the rain—­all night—­ Hell, boys!  Yuh know I’m about all in.  I’m hard to kill, or I’d have been—­dead—­ What I want to know—­will yuh do what I—­said?  Will yuh bury me—­right here—­and keep it—­quiet?”

The Happy Family moved uncomfortably.  They hated to see him lying that way, and talking in short, jerky sentences, and looking so ghastly, and yet so cool—­as if dying were quite an everyday affair.

“I don’t see why yuh ask us to do it,” spoke Cal Emmet bluntly.  “What we want to do is get yuh to help.  The chances is you could be—­cured.  We—­”

“Look here.”  The fellow raised himself painfully to an elbow, and fell back again.  “I’ve got folks—­and they don’t know—­about this scrape.  They’re square—­and stand at the top—­And they don’t—­it would just about—­ For God sake, boys!  Can’t yuh see—­how I feel?  Nobody knows—­about this.  The sheriff didn’t know—­they came up on me in the dusk—­and I fought.  I wouldn’t be taken—­And it’s my first bad break—­because I got in with a bad—­lot.  They’ll know something—­happened, when they find—­my horse.  But they’ll think—­it’s just drowning, if they don’t find—­me with a bullet or two—­ Can’t yuh see?”

The Happy Family looked away across the coulee, and there were eyes that saw little of the yellow sunlight lying soft on the green hillside beyond.  The world was not a good place; it was a grim, pitiless place, and—­a man was dying, at their very feet.

“But what about the rest oh the bunch?” croaked Happy Jack, true to his misanthropic nature, but exceeding husky as to voice.  “They’ll likely tell—­”