"Yeah, I reckon mebby you did," admitted the puncher, uneasily. "You want to see him tonight, shore."
"I do. Now you fork that cayuse an' get goin'. Good Lord! That bullet must 'a' hit yore mem'ry." He glanced at his puncher's thigh. "An' where's yore six-shooter? Did you forget that, somewhere?"
Smitty's hand went to the holster and he cursed heartily. "D—n these open sheaths! It must 'a' fell out when that jack rabbit did th' fancy swappin' of ends. Now I got to go get it, but I'm borrowin' a gun to wear, or I stays here. Somethin' tells me it's unhealthy to go ridin' around this God-forsaken country without no six-gun."
"Take that spare one of mine, hangin' up over my bunk," offered the foreman. "She's in good shape. Now, yo're plumb shore you didn't lose nothin' else, more valuable than earthly belongin's?" he grinned. "Yo're shore yo're goin' back for yore gun?"
"Shore I am; what you mean?" replied Smitty, suspiciously.
"Nothin' worth mentionin'," smiled Big Tom. "I reckoned mebby you'd take th' over-mountain trail, seein' as it's shorter."
"Then how could I get my gun?"
"That's what I was wonderin'."
"I'll get it," Smitty assured him. "I'll get it unless yore fool joker picked it up. Mebby he's a-settin' on it, waitin' to hand it to me, an' 'pologize for missin' me."
"He won't be within miles of here by this time," said Big Tom. "He dusted quick. If he was jokin' he'd get away pronto, an' if he wasn't, he'd do it quicker. I reckon you'd better climb up on that bench an' see what you can find—an' empty shell might help us a lot. But don't forget to see th' Doc, this time. After that you can go to town an' find out what you can learn. Now get started. An' take good care of that hat—that ain't no way to treat it, nohow."