fs on the frozen dooryard brought
Teeters to attention. What honest person could be out jamming around
this time of night, he wondered.

In preparation for callers he reached for his cartridge belt and holster
that hung on a nail and laid them on the table.

The door opened and a stranger entered, blinking. The fringe of icicles
hanging from his moustache looked like the contrivance to curtail the
activities of cows given to breaking and entering.

"I seen you through the winder," he said apologetically.

"I heard your horse whinner," Teeters replied, politely, rising.

"This banany belt's gittin' colder every winter." The stranger broke off
an icicle and laid it on the stove to hear it sizzle.

"I was jest fixin' to turn in," Teeters hinted. "Last night I didn't
sleep good. I tossed and thrashed around until half-past eight 'fore I
closed my eyes."

"I won't keep you up, then. I come over on business. Bowers's my name.
I'm a-workin' for Miss Prentice. I'm a sheepherder myself by
perfession."

Teeters received the announcement with equanimity, so he continued:

"Along about two o'clock this afternoon I got an idea that nigh knocked
me over. I bedded my sheep early and took a chance on leavin' them,
seein' as it was on her account I wanted to talk to you. You're a friend
of her'n, ain't you?"

"To the end of the road," Teeters replied soberly.

Bowers nodded.

"So somebody told me. Are you goin' to town anyways soon?"

"To-morrow."

"Good! Will you take a message to Lingle?"

Teeters assented.

"Tell him for me that the night of the murder there was a onery
breed-lookin' feller that smelt like a piece of Injun-tanned buckskin a
settin' in Doc Fussel's drug store. He acted oneasy, as I come to think
it over, and he went out jest before the killin'. I never thought of it
at the time, but he might have been the feller that done it."

"I'll tell Lingle, but I don't think there's anything in it."

"Why?"

Teeters' eyes narrowed.

"Because I know where the gun come from!"

Bowers looked his astonishment.

"I'd swear to that gun stock on a stack of Bibles," Teeters continued.
"It was swelled from layin' in water, and a blacksmith riveted it. The
blacksmith died last summer or by now we'd a had his affidavit."

"Ain't that sick'nin'!" Bowers referred to the exasperating demise of
the blacksmith.

"Anyway, Lingle's workin' like a horse on the case, and I think he'll
clear it up directly. How's she