“He sure looks like the bad man from Coyote Gulch,” remarked one who stood in front of “The Last Chance” saloon.

“He ain’t heeled,” asserted the speaker’s companion.

“Heeled!  Do you reckon Jim’s plumb loco?  Jim took care of that.”

All of which was music to Sundown.  He was making an impression, yet he was not altogether happy.  He did not object to being classed as a bad man so long as he knew at heart that he was anything but that.  Still, he was rather proud of his instant notoriety.

They stopped in front of a square, one-story building.  Sundown’s companion unlocked the door.  “Come on in,” he said.  “We’ll have a smoke and talk things over.”

“But I was to see Mr. Kennedy the lawyer,” asserted Sundown.

“So?  Well, it ain’t quite time to see him yet.”

Sundown’s back became cold and he stared at the stranger with eyes that began to see the drift of things.  “You ain’t a cop, be you?” he asked timorously.

“They call it ‘sheriff’ here.”

“Well, I call it kind o’ warm and I’m goin’ outside.”

“I wouldn’t.  One of my deputies is sitting just across the street.  He’s a mighty good shot.  Can beat me hands down.  Suppose you drop back in your chair and tell me what you know about the shooting of Fadeaway.”

“Me?  You ain’t joshin’, be you?”

“Never more serious in my life!  I’m interested in this case.”

“Well, I ain’t!” was Sundown’s prompt remark.  “And I got to go.  I’m goin’ on privut business for me boss and confidenshell.  Me and Chance.”

“That’s all right, my friend.  But I have some private and confidential business that can’t wait.”

“But I ain’t done nothin’,” whined Sundown, lapsing into his old attitude toward the law.

“Maybe not.  Mr. Loring telephoned me that Fadeaway had been shot and that a man answering your description—­a tramp, he said—­seemed to know something about it.  You never was a puncher.  You don’t get on or off a cayuse like one.  From what I learn you were a Hobo when Jack Corliss gave you a job.  That’s none of my business.  I arrest you as a suspicious character, and I guess I’ll have to keep you here till I find out more about Fadeaway’s case.  Have a cigar?”

“Huh!  Say, don’t you ever get mad?” queried Sundown, impressed by the other’s most genial attitude.

The sheriff laughed.  “Doesn’t pay in my business.  Now, you just ease up and tell me what you know.  It will save time.  Did you ever have trouble with Fadeaway?”

“Not on your life!  I give him all the room he wanted.”

“Did you know Fernando—–­one of Loring’s herders?”

“I seen him onct.  He saved me life from bein’ killed by a steer.  Did he say I done it?” parried Sundown.

The sheriff’s opinion of Sundown’s acumen was disturbed.  Evidently this queer individual posing as a cowboy was not such a fool, after all.