gure on the ground. For a long minute he knelt there; he laid his ear
close to Happy Jack's mouth, took off his glove and laid his hand over
Happy's heart; reached up, twitched off his neckerchief, shook out the
creases and spread it reverently over Happy Jack's face. He stood up
then and spoke slowly, his eyes fixed upon the stumbling approach of the
captives.

"Pink told us Happy had been shot, so we rode around and come up behind
'em. It was a cinch. And--say, boys, we've got the Dots in a pocket.
They've got to eat outa our hands, now. So don't think about--our own
feelings, or about--" he stopped abruptly and let a downward glance
finish the sentence. "We've got to keep our own hands clean, and--now
don't let your fingers get the itch, Bud!" This, because of certain
manifestations of a murderous intent on the part of Big Medicine.

"Oh, it's all right to talk, if yuh feel like talking," Big Medicine
retorted savagely. "I don't." He made a catlike spring at the foremost
man, who happened to be Oleson, and got a merciless grip with his
fingers on his throat, snarling like a predatory animal over its kill.
From behind, Andy, with Weary to help, pulled him off.

"I didn't mean to--to kill anybody," gasped Oleson, pasty white. "I
heard a lot of shooting, and so I ran up the hill--and the herders came
running toward me, and I thought I was defending my property and men. I
had a right to defend--"

"Defend hell!" Big Medicine writhed in the restraining grasp of those
who held him. "Look at that there! As good hearted a boy as ever turned
a cow! Never harmed a soul in 'is life. Is all your dirty, stinkin'
sheep, an' all your lousy herders, worth that boy's life? Yuh shot 'im
down like a dog--lemme go, boys." His voice was husky. "Lemme tromp the
life outa him."

"I thought you were killing my men, or I never--I never meant to--to
kill--" Oleson, shaking till he could scarcely stand, broke down and
wept; wept pitiably, hysterically, as men of a certain fiber will weep
when black tragedy confronts them all unawares. He cowered miserably
before the Happy Family, his face hidden behind his two hands.

"Boys, I want to say a word or two. Come over here." Andy's voice, quiet
as ever, contrasted strangely with the man's sobbing. He led them back
a few paces--Weary, Cal, Big Medicine and Slim, and spoke hurriedly. The
Native Son eyed them sidelong from his horse, but he was careful to keep
Oleson covered with his gun--and th