Bostil hears it you'd better be acrost the
canyon!"

Slone felt the hot, sick rush of blood to his face, and humiliation and
rage overtook him.

"Joel's down at my house. He had fits after you beat him, an' he 'ain't
got over them yet. But he could blab to the riders. Van Sickle's
lookin' fer you. An' to-day when I was alone with Joel he told me some
more queer things about you. I shut him up quick. But I ain't
guaranteein' I can keep him shut up."

"I'll bet you I shut him up," declared Slone. "What more did the fool
say?"

"Slone, hev you been round these hyar parts---down among the
monuments--fer any considerable time?" queried Brackton.

"Yes, I have--several weeks out there, an' about ten days or so around
the Ford."

"Where was you the night of the flood?"

The shrewd scrutiny of the old man, the suspicion, angered Slone.

"If it's any of your mix, I was out on the slope among the rocks. I
heard that flood comin' down long before it got here," replied Slone,
deliberately.

Brackton averted his gaze, and abruptly rose as if the occasion was
ended. "Wal, take my hunch an' leave!" he said, turning away.

"Brackton, if you mean well, I'm much obliged," returned Slone, slowly,
ponderingly. "But I'll not take the hunch."

"Suit yourself," added Brackton, coldly, and he went away.

Slone watched him go down the path and disappear in the lane of
cottonwoods.

"I'll be darned!" muttered Slone. "Funny old man. Maybe Creech's not
the only loony one hereabouts."

Slone tried to laugh off the effect of the interview, but it persisted
and worried him all day. After supper he decided to walk down into the
village, and would have done so but for the fact that he saw a man
climbing his path. When he recognized the rider Holley he sensed
trouble, and straightway he became gloomy. Bostil's right-hand man
could not call on him for any friendly reason. Holley came up slowly,
awkwardly, after the manner of a rider unused to walking. Slone had
built a little porch on the front of his cabin and a bench, which he
had covered with goatskins. It struck him a little strangely that he
should bend over to rearrange these skins just as Holley approached the
porch.

"Howdy, son!" was the rider's drawled remark. "Sure makes--me--puff to
climb--up this mountain."

Slone turned instantly, surprised at the friendly tone, doubting his
own ears, and wanting to verify them. He was the more surprised to see
Holley unmistakably am