ack to
the Dots, and to Oleson, whom Weary was even now assisting to keep his
promise (Slim grinned widely to himself when he thought of the abject
fear which Oleson had displayed because of the murder he thought he had
done, while Happy Jack obediently "played dead"). And of Dunk, whom Slim
had hated most abominably of old; Dunk, a criminal found out; Dunk, a
prisoner right there on the very ranch he had thought to despoil; Dunk,
at that very moment locked in the blacksmith shop. Perhaps it was not
curiosity alone which sent him down there; perhaps it was partly a
desire to look upon Dunk humbled--he who had trodden so arrogantly
upon the necks of those below him; so arrogantly that even Slim, the
slow-witted one, had many a time trembled with anger at his tone.

Slim walked slowly, as was his wont; with deadly directness, as was his
nature. The blacksmith shop was silent, closed--as grimly noncommittal
as a vault. You might guess whatever you pleased about its inmate; it
was like trying to imagine the emotions pictured upon the face behind
a smooth, black mask. Slim stopped before the closed door and listened.
The rusty, iron hasp attracted his slow gaze, at first puzzling him a
little, making him vaguely aware that something about it did not quite
harmonize with his mental attitude toward it. It took him a full minute
to realize that he had expected to find the door locked, and that the
hasp hung downward uselessly, just as it hung every day in the year.

He remembered then that Andy had spoken of chaining Dunk to the anvil.
That would make it unnecessary to lock the door, of course. Slim seized
the hanging strip of iron, gave it a jerk and bathed all the dingy
interior with a soft, sunset glow. Cobwebs quivered at the inrush of the
breeze, and glistened like threads of fine gold. The forge remained a
dark blot in the corner. A new chisel, lying upon the earthen floor,
became a bar of yellow light.

Slim's eyes went to the anvil and clung there in a widening stare. His
hands, white and soft when his gloves were off, drew up convulsively
into fighting fists, and as he stood looking, the cords swelled and
stood out upon his thick neck. For years he had hated Dunk Whittaker--

The Happy Family, with rare good sense, had not hesitated to turn the
white house into an impromptu hospital. They knew that if the Little
Doctor and Chip and the Old Man had been at home Happy Jack would have
been taken unquestioningly into th