with ye--like I said all along; when I hauled ye down outa that
tree, for instance.

"Aw, shut up, Paw, you ol' fool, you," Hank commanded again with
filial gentleness. "He had yore tongue hangin' out a foot when I
come along an' captured 'im. Don't go takin' no credit to
yourself --you ain't got none comin'. Mart'll know what to do
with 'im, all right. But yuh needn't go an' try to let on to
Mart that you was the one that caught 'im. He had you caught.
An' he'd a killed yuh if I hadn't showed up an' pulled 'im off'n
yuh."

"Well now, when it comes to KILLIN'," Casey interjected
spitefully, "I guess I coulda put the two of yuh away if I'd a
wanted to right bad. Casey Ryan ain't no killer, because he don't
have to be. G'wan an' hold me if yuh feel that way. Grub ain't
none too good, but I can stand it till your boss comes. I want a
man-to-man talk with him, anyway."



CHAPTER FIVE

That night Casey slept soundly in a bunk built above Joe's bed in
the dugout, with Hank and Paw on the opposite side of the room
with their guns handy. In the morning he thought well enough of
his stomach to get up and start breakfast when Hank had built the
fire. He was aware of Joe's suspicious gaze from the lower bunk,
and of the close presence of Joe's six-shooter eyeing him
balefully from underneath the top blanket. Hank, too, was