d the dago. Down on
the bench in front of the cave is our guard-camp with Iron Dale in
command, and Kate with the boys having supper. Right home at the ranch
house is me finishing my chores, and the widow spoiling hash for my
supper, because she hates me worse nor snakes for being a Protestant.
Away off beyond the horizon is old man Brown cussing blue streaks 'cause
he can't find much constable.

Such being the combinations at supper-time, along comes the widow's
orphan, young Billy O'Flynn, who handles my pack contract with the
Sky-line. He's supposed to be on duty at the guard-camp, and his riding
back to the home ranch completely disarranges the landscape. I'm busy,
hungry, and expected to take charge of the night guard at the cave, but
somehow this Billy attracts my attention by acting a whole lot
suspicious. Instead of bringing me some message from Dale, he rides
straight to the lean-to kitchen, steps off his pony, and whispers for
his mother. I sneaks through the house to the kitchen in time to see
this widow with a slip of paper, brown paper what we used to wrap up the
prisoners' lunch. At sight of me she gets modest, shoving it into the
stove, but I becomes prominent, and grabs it "Shure," she explains, "an'
it's only a schlip av paper!"

Seems to be scratches on the smooth side of this paper, sort of
reminding me that Bull has a fountainpen sticking out of his vest
pocket. If he's been writing with milk, I'd warm the paper--but no, we
use canned milk, and haven't got any either. I've heard faintly
somewheres of things wrote in spittle, so I pours on a bottle of ink,
and rinses the paper in the water-butt. Yes, there's the message plain
as print.

"Gun to hand, but cartridges wrong size, no good. Get .45. Billy to
wait with ponies under nearest pine N. of cave, when plough above
N. Star. Send more gum for chief's wound.--Bull."

Billy was mounting at the door to put out for solitude, but since he
knows I can't miss under two hundred yards, he was persuaded to come
into the cabin. There I read him some of the etiquette about keeping his
temper, and not using coarse language. Also I told him politely what I
thought of him, and where he'll go when he dies. He waited, stroking the
little fur on his muzzle, till I got through, looking so damned patient
with me that I came near handing him one in the eye.

"You invited these robbers to my grass?"

He nodded.

"Thanks to you, my wife had a gun m