“Will they pinch the boss?” queried Sundown.

“I don’ know.  Anyhow, they can’t prove it on him.  Even if Jack did—­and I don’t mind sayin’ it to you—­plug Fade, he did it to keep from gettin’ plugged hisself.  Do you reckon I’d let any fella chloroform me with the butt of a .45 and not turn loose?  I tell you, if Jack had been a-goin’ to get Fade right, you’d ‘a’ found ’em closter together.  And that ain’t all.  If Jack had wanted to get Fade, you can bet he wouldn’t got walloped on the head first.  The gun that got Fade weren’t packed by a puncher.”

“Will they be any more shootin’?” queried Sundown.

“Gettin’ cold feet, Sun?”

“Nope.  But say, it ain’t no fun to get shot up.  It don’t feel good and it’s like to make a guy cross.  A guy can’t make pie or eat pie all shot up, nohow.”

“Pie?  You sure are loco.  What you tryin’ to rope now?”

“Nothin’.  But onct I was in the repair shop with two docs explorin’ me works with them there shiny little corkscrews, lookin’ for a bullit that Clammie-the-dip let into me system—­me bein’ mistook for another friend of his by mistake.  After the docs dug up the bullit they says, ‘Anything you want to say?’—­expectin’ me to pass over, I reckon.  ‘There is,’ says I.  ‘I want to say that I ain’t et nothin’ sense the day before Clammie done me dirt.  An’ if I’m goin’ to hit the slide I jest as soon hit it full of pie as empty.’  And them docs commenced to laugh.  ‘Let him have it,’ says one.  ’But don’t you reckon ice-cream would be less apt to—­er—­hasten—­the—­er—­’ jest like that.  ’Pussuble you’re correct’ says the other.’” Sundown scratched his ear.  “And I et the ice-cream, feelin’ kind o’ sad-like seein’ it wasn’t pie.  You see, Bud, gettin’ shot up is kind of disconvenient.”

“Well, you’re the limit!” exclaimed Shoop.  “Say, the boss wants to make a few talks to you to-morrow.  Told me to tell you when you come back.  You better go feed up.  As I recollec’ Hi’s wrastlin’ out some pie-dough right now.”

“Well, I ain’t takin’ no chances, Bud.”

“You tell that to Hi and see what he says.”

“Nope.  ’T ain’t necessary.  You see when them docs seen, about a week after, that I was comin’ strong instead of goin’, they says, ’Me man, if you’d ‘a’ had pie in your stummick when you was shot, you wouldn’t be here to-day.  You’d be planted—­or somethin’ similar.  The fac’ that your stummick was empty evidentially saved your life.’  And,” concluded Sundown, “they’s no use temptin’ Providence now.”

Shortly after breakfast next morning Corliss sent for Sundown.  The rancher sat propped up in a wide armchair.  He was pale, but his eyes were clear and steady.

“Bud told me about yesterday,” he began, anticipating Sundown’s leisurely and erratic recital.  “I understand you found me on the trail and went for help.”

“Yes.  I thought you was needin’ some about then.”