y his unlighted cigarette and hurried
across the veranda of the hotel. Had he seen an enemy to chastise,
or an old friend to greet, or a pretty girl? No, it was only old Jud
Harding, the blacksmith, whose hand had lost its strength, but who
still worked iron as others mold putty, simply because he had the
genius for his craft. He was staggering now under a load of boards
which he had shouldered to carry to his shop. In a moment that load
was shifted to the shoulder of Ronicky Doone, and they went on down
the street, laughing and talking together until the load was dropped
on the floor of Harding's shop.

"And how's the sick feller coming?" asked Harding.

"Coming fine," answered Ronicky. "Couple of days and I'll have him out
for a little exercise. Lucky thing it was a clean wound and didn't
nick the bone. Soon as it's healed over he'll never know he was
plugged."

Harding considered his young friend with twinkling eyes. "Queer thing
to me," he said, "is how you and this gent Gregg have hit it off so
well together. Might almost say it was like you'd shot Gregg and now
was trying to make up for it. But, of course, that ain't the truth."

"Of course not," said Ronicky gravely and met the eye of Harding
without faltering.

"Another queer thing," went on the cunning old smith. "He was fooling
with that gun while he was in the saddle, which just means that the
muzzle must of been pretty close to his skin. But there wasn't any
sign of a powder burn, the doc says."

"But his trousers was pretty bad burned, I guess," said Ronicky.

"H-m," said the blacksmith, "that's the first time I've heard about
it." He went on more seriously: "I got something to tell you, Ronicky.
Ever hear the story about the gent that took pity on the snake that
was stiff with cold and brought the snake in to warm him up beside the
fire? The minute the snake come to life he sunk his fangs in the gent
that had saved him."

"Meaning," said Ronicky, "that, because I've done a good turn for
Gregg, I'd better look out for him?"

"Meaning nothing," said Harding, "except that the reason the snake bit
the gent was because he'd had a stone heaved at him by the same man
one day and hadn't forgot it."

But Ronicky Doone merely laughed and turned back toward the hotel.

Chapter Four

_His Victim's Trouble_

Yet he could not help pondering on the words of old Harding. Bill
Gregg had been a strange patient. He had never repeated his first
offer