ime. I left it
scattered along the trail."

"But, Mr. Stranleigh, what you say is incredible. There are no brigands,
thieves or road agents in this district."

"The wound that you dressed so skilfully is my witness, and a witness
whose testimony cannot be impugned on cross-examination."

"There is a mistake somewhere. Why, just think of it; the most energetic
bandit would starve in this locality! There is no traffic. If your
belongings were scattered along the trail, they are there yet."

"Then why shoot the belonger of those belongings?"

"That's just what I must discover. Excuse me for a moment."

She passed through the house, and the young man heard a shrill whistle
blown, which was answered by a call some distance away. The girl
returned, and sat down again, her brow perplexed, and presently there
came on to the platform a stalwart, good-natured looking man, dressed in
what Stranleigh took to be a cowboy costume; at least, it was the kind
of apparel he had read about in books of the Wild West. His head was
covered with a broad-brimmed slouch hat, which he swept off in deference
to the lady.

"Jim," she said, "did you hear any shooting out by the Bleachers trail
about an hour ago?"

"No, Ma'am; I can't say that I did, except a rifle I shot off."

"That _you_ shot off! What were you shooting at?"

"Well," said Jim, with a humorous chuckle, "I guess perhaps it was this
gentleman."

"Why did you wish to murder _me_?" asked Stranleigh, with pardonable
concern.

"Murder you, sir? Why, I didn't try to murder you. I could have winged
you a dozen times while you were riding down to the house, if I'd wanted
to. Where were you hit?"

"In the left shoulder."

"Then that's all right. That's what I aimed to do. I just set out to nip
you, and scare you back where you came from."

"But why?" insisted the perplexed Stranleigh.

"You came along with a posse behind you, and I thought you were the
sheriff, but I wouldn't kill even a sheriff unless I had to. I'm the
peaceablest man on earth, as Miss Armstrong there will tell you."

"If that's your idea of peace," said Stranleigh, puzzled, "I hope next
time I'll fall among warlike people."

Jim grinned. It was Miss Armstrong who spoke, and, it seemed to
Stranleigh, with unexpected mildness, considering she knew so much of
the Eastern States and Europe.

"I understand," she said, "but next time, Jim, it will be as well merely
to fire the gun, without hitting anybo