“I got the bullet here in my pocket.  Want to see it?” And before Pete could reply, the sheriff fished out the flattened and twisted bullet and handed it to Pete, who turned it over and over, gazing at it curiously.

“Spreads out most as big as a forty-five,” said Pete, handing it back.

“Yes—­but it acts different.  Travels faster—­and takes more along with it.  Lot of ’em used in Texas and across the line.  Ever have words with Sam Brent?”

“No.  Got along with him all right.”

“Did he pay your wages reg’lar?”

“Yes.”

“Ever have any trouble with a man named Steve Gary?”

“Yes, but he’s—­”

“I know.  Used to know the man that got him.  Wizard with a gun.  Meaner than dirt—­”

“Hold on!” said Pete.  “He was my friend.”

“—­to most folks,” continued the rotund sheriff.  “But I’ve heard said he’d do anything for a man he liked.  Trouble with him was he didn’t like anybody.”

“Mebby he didn’t,” said Pete indifferently.

“Because he couldn’t trust anybody.  Ever eat ice-cream?”

“Who—­me?”

The sheriff smiled and nodded.

“Nope.  Ma Bailey made some onct, but—­”

“Let’s go out and get some.  It’s cooling and refreshing and it’s—­ice-cream.  Got a hat?”

“Up in my room.”

“Go get it.  I’ll wait.”

“You mean?”—­and Pete hesitated.

“I don’t mean anything.  Heard you was going for a walk this afternoon.  Thought I’d come along.  Want to get acquainted.  Lonesome.  Nobody to talk to.  Get your hat.”

“Suppose I was to make a break—­when we git outside?” said Pete.

Sheriff Owen smiled and shrugged his shoulders.  “That little nurse, the one with the gray eyes—­that said you were having dinner—­is she your reg’lar nurse?”

Pete nodded.

“Well, you won’t,” said the sheriff.

“How’s that?” queried Pete.

“I talked with her.  Sensible girl.  Break her all up if her patient was to make a break:—­because”—­and the sheriff’s eyes ceased to twinkle, although he still smiled—­“because I’d have to break you all up.  Hate to do it.  Hate to make her feel bad.”

“Oh, shucks,” said Pete.

“You’re right—­shucks.  That’s what you’d look like.  I pack a forty-five—­same as you.  We can buy a hat—­”

“I’ll get it.”  And Pete left the room.

He could not quite understand Sheriff Owen.  In fact Pete did not come half so close to understanding him as the sheriff came to understanding Pete.  But Pete understood one thing—­and that was that Jim Owen was not an easy proposition to fool with.

“Now where do we head for?” said Owen as they stood at the foot of the hospital steps.

“I was goin’ to the bank—­the Stockmen’s Security.”

“Good bank.  You couldn’t do better.  Know old E.H. myself.  Used to know him better—­before he got rich.  No—­this way.  Short cut.  You got to get acquainted with your legs again, eh?  Had a close call.  A little shaky?”