LITMIR.BIZ

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day before yesterday your friends have been droppin' in to give me fits. Seems like everybody wanted to see yuh dead—well, I mean they sorter wanted to say so-long before we covered the coffin. I been told I had ought to of laid you out like Exhibit A. I been told I should 'a' took you to Sundown's cemetery. Steve Steers was so hog-wild when he come that I figgered he was agoin' to shoot. It's a good thing I got Doc to back me up, or I'd be accused of buryin' yuh alive."

      "What's Doc tell 'em?"

      "Tells 'em that if folks can't keep fresh beef from spoilin' in this weather what do they expect of a defunct human being?"

      "A good answer," mused Denver, "but not nice."

      "And here's another item," went on Bonnet. "I may be a hard nut, but I can't stand by and listen to any more women cryin'—like Eve did. Dave, I tell you I almost broke down and told her the truth."

      Denver raised his good arm. "I know—I know. I was just as bad off, lyin' here and hearin' her out there. That's something I'm going' to carry on my conscience a long time. I don't know if she ever will forgive me when she finds out. Maybe I didn't have any business keepin' her out of the secret. It was cold blooded. But it seemed to me then—and it does now—that there is no way of getting Lou Redmain in a trap without throwin' him off completely. If he knows he's put Leverage out of the way and me out of the way he'll be apt to take longer chances. That's just what I want. And he won't be spyin' around D Slash to see what I'm up to. I had to make the idea of my being dead sound truthful. Redmain's no man's fool. Supposin' he had run into Eve right afterward. Or supposin' he's got spies around the Leverage place, as he probably has. If she seems unconcerned about me he'll get suspicious right away. No, I had to take the hard way, and may the Lord forgive me for doin' it."

      "You going to tell Steve?"

      "Not today or tomorrow. If he's gone hog-wild, then that's the best advertisement of my kickin' the bucket I could want. I'm not worryin' over him. He can stand the gaff."

      "How about Lola Monterey?"

      There was so long a silence that Bonnet figured Denver hadn't heard. Denver was staring blackly at the ceiling. After a while he spoke, never answering the question—and Bonnet knew he was not to mention the girl's name again. "Do you think we fooled Hominy Hogg and the Steele bunch?"

      "I'd say so," said Bonnet. "You got to figure that when all those shots turned our attention toward Tom's Hole and we found yuh lyin' in that mess of rocks, you was in no pretty shape. Of course, yuh talked, but it wasn't no great shakes. So when we got here and put yuh in the bedroom I think the Steele bunch considered it a toss-up. Anyhow, when I walked out on the porch and said yuh was gone, they rode home with a good imitation of bein' sunk."

      "To tell you the truth," revealed Denver, "I got the idea of playing dead the minute I shook the fog out of my head and found I was still kickin'. I wasn't hurt as much as I gave indications of bein' in front of the bunch. I trust almost all of the Steele bunch, but there's a chance some one of them might be playing double. So I thought it best to carry out the idea. Therefore there's nobody but my own crew who knows I'm alive. And we'll keep it that way until I get wind of Redmain and have a chance of running him down. Did you do what I told you?"

      "About the men? Yeah. I explained the situation. Chester Mack, Limerick Lane, and Gallup decided to play the part of havin' quit the ranch. They're to hit Sundown and indicate the ranch is breakin' up. Mack's to stay in town and keep his ears wide open. I told Limerick to ride around the hills like he was lookin' for work. Gallup is to get himself a pack horse and strike out on a prospectin' trip—keepin' to the upper Copperhead. So that covers that. What next?"

      "You can't hang around the ranch too much, Lyle. There might be renegades spyin' on us."

      Bonnet frowned. "There is—or was. Lee was pokin' around the east trees a little while ago and found where a fellow had beaten down the grass and brush. Apparently watchin' the house. Considerin' yore helpless I wasn't going to say anything about it."

      Denver thought about this for a period. "Redmain may be nearby. Only one way to be sure. You start out in the morning as if to round up the stock. Beat the country pretty well. Better yet—send out some men tonight with cold grub. Put 'em where they'll cover the trails. Same system we tried before. It worked then, and it'll work now."

      "That all?"

      "Ahuh. Get out of here. Oscar's losin' his patience. Can't you see him fiddlin' around?" But Bonnet had hardly departed when Doc Williamson arrived. He cast a professional glance at Denver. "Suppose you've been threshin' around the bed and cussin' everybody. Your kind always does."

      "If I ever get out of here I'll never look at that ceilin' again. Going to paint it full of faces, so I can talk to 'em. Put your face in the middle and give you the devil. Meet Oscar."

      "Crazy as a loon," remarked Doc Williamson and threw back the covers. "Now if this don't hurt, tell me. Otherwise keep still."

      "It's a good thing you've got Pete Atkins to take care of up here, too," reflected Denver, "or I don't know how you'd manage to keep up the story of me bein' dead. Yeah, that's my foot, all right. No doubt about it."

      "Think you're wise?" countered Williamson. "Givin' grief to a lot of good people—and some in particular?"

      "I reckon I'll pay for it later. It's a hard game, Doc, but I've got to play it out."

      "Somebody's got to play it out," agreed the Doc, "or this county will be worse than when the Indians skulked through it. Now, I'm going to get a little rough."

      "What do you call what you been doin' so far?" Denver wanted to know. He closed his eyes while Williamson lifted one foot and another, turning the ankles, bending the knees, all the while his sharp eyes probing Denver's face for pain. In ten minutes or so he had worked up as far as the splinted arm; taking off the bandages he continued his search, fingers gently insistent. Then he was done; and he leaned back, eyes lighting. "Well, after bouncing off every rock in Tom's Hole I still can't find any bones busted. What'd you want a doctor for? Legs are sound, ribs seem satisfactory, that arm's got a few pulled tendons, but nothing more."

      Denver considered he did very well in suppressing his wild emotion of pleasure. "How about my head?"

      "You got a gash in it big enough to drive a span of mules through, right over the left ear. I washed so much grit out of it the other day I thought I was prospectin'. What difference does it make? Nobody in Yellow Hill uses a head often enough to count, anyhow."

      "So I can get up, uh?"

      "Who said so?" grunted Doc, juggling some vile-looking pills into a glass of water.

      "Well, if I'm not hurt—"

      Williamson clucked his tongue in disgust. "Listen, Dave, if you were a horse I'd shoot you for bein' absolutely no good for further service. But since you're a Denver—the blackest and toughest breed of mortal fools I ever knew—I'll say you stick on your back for a week. Then you can do what you please. You will anyhow, so I might as well say it. Drink this, and don't bellyache."

      Denver obeyed, shuddering as he waved the empty glass away. "You'll make me sick yet. But, listen, you cut that week down to about three-four days, Doc. As a personal favor to me."

      "I'm not God," said Williamson, closing his bag. "But I'll drop around tomorrow and see if some packs and some massagin' won't work a little of the bruise out of you. Now, get some sleep."

      "Sleep—I'm so full of sleep I'd float," grumbled Denver fretfully. "Go on away and leave me alone."

      Williamson paused in the doorway. "Well," he mused, "I'm glad it wasn't worse." That was his only display of sentiment, his only admission of the deep concern he had felt for a man he loved. Closing the door quietly, he went out to treat Pete Atkins, who had taken a bullet through his leg in the fight.

      Denver stared at the ceiling, calculating his condition. A week was a long time to be helpless while Lou Redmain raced through the hills. If the renegade would just play 'possum for a while, it would be all right. But the thought was not worth entertaining. He knew Redmain. The man was a furnace of tempers. He had

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