“What’s the matter with the gun you’re packin’?” asked Houck.

Cotton had forgotten his own gun.

“I—­it was like this, Bill.  After Young Pete killed Gary, I went back to the shack and got my gun.  At first, Andy White wasn’t goin’ to leave me have it—­but I tells him to fan it.  I reckon he’s pretty nigh home by now.”

“Thought you said you didn’t see White after the shooting—­that he forked his horse and rode for the Concho?  Cotton, you’re lyin’ so fast you’re like to choke.”

“Honest, Bill!  If I’d ‘a’ had my gun . . .”

“Oh, hell!  Don’t try to swing that bluff.  Where’s your horse?”

“I couldn’t ketch him, honest.”

“Thought you said you caught him in the brush and tied him to a tree and Young Annersley threatened to kill you if you went for your saddle.”

“That’s right—­honest, Bill, that’s what he said.”

“Then how is it that Bobby Lent caught your horse strayin’ in more ’n a hour ago?  Dam’ if I believe a word you say.  You’re plumb crazy.”

“Honest, Bill.  I hope to die if Steve Gary ain’t layin’ over there with two holes in him.  He’s sure dead.  Do yon think I footed it all the way jest because I like walkin’?”

Houck frowned and shook his head.  “You say him and Young Pete had come to words?”

“Yep; about ole man Annersley.  Steve was tellin’ me about the raid when Pete steps up and tells him to say it over ag’in.  Steve started to talk when Pete cuts down on him—­twict.  My God, he was quick!  I never even seen him draw.”

“Did Gary say he was the one that plugged Annersley?”

“Yep.  Said he did it—­and asked Pete what he was goin’ to do about it.”

“Then Steve was drunk or crazy.  You go git a horse and burn the trail to Concho.  Tell Sutton that Young Pete Annersley killed Gary, up to the Blue Mesa.  Tell him we’re out after Young Pete.  Can you git that straight?”

“What if the sheriff was to pinch me for bein’ in that scrap?”

“You!  In a gun-fight?  No.  He wouldn’t believe that if you told him so.  You jest tell Sutton what I said, and git goin’!  Don’t lie to him—­or he’ll spot it and pinch you dam’ quick.”

With Cotton gone, Houck saddled up and rode out to where one of his men was mending fence.  “Take your horse and git all the boys you can reach before night.  Young Pete Annersley shot Steve over to the Blue this mornin’.”

The cowboy, unlike Cotton, whistled his surprise, dropped his tools, mounted, and was off before Houck had reined back toward the ranch-house.

It was near twelve that night when a quiet band of riders dismounted at the Annersley cabin, separated, and trailed off in the darkness to look for Gary.  One of them found him where he had fallen and signaled with his gun.  They carried Gary to the cabin.  In the flickering light of the open stove they saw that he was still alive.  There was one chance in a thousand that he could recover.  They washed his wounds and one of the men set out toward Concho, to telephone to Enright for a doctor.  The rest grouped around the stove and talked in low tones, waiting for daylight.  “Chances are the kid went south,” said Houck, half to himself.