izzard. But I done give my word to
Old Blister an' I gotta come through. It'll hurt you more'n it will me,
anyhow."

"I'll quit an' leave this part of the country," Bob said wretchedly.

"I'm not stoppin' you, but you won't go till I've whopped you once good.
Will you take it now?"

"Let's talk it over reasonable," Bob pleaded.

Dud looked disgusted. "I never see such a fellow for thinkin' he could
chin himself outa trouble. Nothin' doing."

"You've got no right to interfere in my affairs. It's not yore business,"
the worried victim of circumstances declared with an attempt at dignity.

"Say, don't I know it? If I hadn't promised Blister--But what's the use?
I done said I would, an' I got to go through."

"I'll let you off yore promise."

Dud shook his head. "Wish you could, but you can't. It was to Blister I
give my word. No, sir. You gotta take or give a lickin', looks like.
Either me or Bandy, I ain't particular which."

"You lay off me, Dud Hollister."

"Honest, I hope you'll fix it so's I can. Well, you got till to-morrow to
decide. Don't forget. Me or Bandy one. You take yore choice."

"I won't fight you."

"Then it's Bandy. Suits me fine. Say, Bob, I ain't so darned sure that
fellow'll be there so big when it comes to a show-down. He looks to me
tricky rather than game. Take him by surprise. Then crawl his hump
sudden. With which few well-chosen words I close. Yores sincerely,
Well-wisher, as these guys sign themselves when they write to the
papers."

All through the rest of the day Bob was depressed. He felt as cheerful as
a man about to be hanged. Why couldn't they let him alone? He never in
his life went looking for trouble and it seemed to hunt him out if he was
anywhere in reach. It was not fair. What claim had Dud to mix into his
difficulties with Bandy? Absolutely none.

He made up his mind to slip away in the night, ride to Glenwood, and take
the train for Denver. There a fellow could live in peace.

CHAPTER XXIII

BOB CRAWLS HIS HUMP SUDDEN

There was a game of stud after supper in the bunkhouse. Bob lay on his
bed, a prey to wretched dread. He had made up his mind to have it out
with Bandy, but his heart was pumping water instead of blood. When he
looked at the squat puncher, thick-necked and leather-faced, an ugly
sneer on his lips, the courage died out of his breast.

Dud was sitting with his back to the wall. His attention was ostensibly
on the game, but Bob knew he was