“Give Uncle Sam a chance to use some of his money around here, eh? He
sure lost trade in this country for a while.”
“I was scared,” said Skeeter. “I thought that train wasn’t never goin’
to come. I wasn’t sure of a darned thing except Frisco’s heel. I wanted
to shock Moran just at the right time, dontcha see? If he made a break
for his gun, I’d know my dope was right. Honest to gosh, it was seven
hours from the time I handed him that telegram until he went for his
gun.
“If he had stood pat I was stuck. I played for the one thing—breakin’
Moran’s nerve. He didn’t dare to meet yuh, Long. He was cornered.”
“I’d say it was a clever bit of detective work,” said Long
appreciatively.
“Just lucky,” Skeeter smiled. “Lucky that I knew yore name wasn’t
Shorty—and Moran didn’t.”
“And yuh ought to give Skeeter ——,” said Kaintuck solemnly. “He said yuh
used to herd sheep. He used yore name in vain.”
“I think he used it to advantage,” laughed Long, and they rode down the
long slope to the Lazy H, where no man lived—now. And over in a little
swale near the Box X a skull grinned from the forks of a stunted tree,
while four people rode along the dusty highway to the HG ranch; four
people upon whom a great peace had descended. And for once in his life,
Calamity was able to compare the present with the past—and not find any
great fault.
[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in Adventure Magazine,
November 30, 1925. It is believed to be in the public domain in the
United States; copyright status may differ in other countries.]