"Heart," returned Dud gloomily.

Bob sat up. "Why, I never heard there was anything the matter with yore heart. If there is, you hadn't ought to be ridin' these crazy colts you do."

"Nothin' the matter with _my_ heart. It's yore's I'm worryin' about."

Bob flushed, but said nothing.

"I'm wonderin' how long you're aimin' to let that bully puss fellow Walker run over you."

"What can I do?" Bob did not look at his companion. He kept his eyes on the ground, where he was tracing figures with a broken stick.

"Well, there's seve-re-al things you could do. You might work the plug-ugly over. It couldn't hurt his looks none, an' it might improve 'em. That's one suggestion. I've got others where that come from."

"He's a bad actor. I expect he'd half kill me," Bob muttered.

"I reckon he would, onless you beat him to it. That's not the point. You got to fight him or admit you're yellow. No two ways about that."

"I can't fight. I never did," groaned Dillon.

"Then how do you know you can't? If you can't, take yore lickin'. But you be on top of him every minute of the time whilst you're gettin' it. Go to it like a wild cat. Pretty soon something'll drop, an' maybe it won't be you."

"I--can't."

Dud's blue eyes grew steely. "You can't, eh? Listen, fellow. I promised Blister to make a man outa you if I could. I aim to do it. You lick Bandy good to-night or I'll whale you to-morrow. That ain't all either. Every time you let him run on you I'll beat you up next day soon as I get you alone."

Bob looked at him, startled. "You wouldn't do that, Dud?"

"Wouldn't I? Don't you bet I wouldn't. I'm makin' that promise right now."

"I thought you were--my friend," Bob faltered.

"Don't you think it. I'm particular who I call by that name. I ain't a friend of any man without sand in his gizzard. 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 waiting for developments.

Bandy sat next Dud. "Raise you once," he snarled. His card-playing was like everything else he did, offensive by reason of the spirit back of it. He was a bad loser and a worse winner.

"And another blue," said Hollister easily when it came his turn again.

"Got to treat an ace in the hole with respect."

The other two players dropped out, leaving only Bandy to contest the pot with Dud.

"Once more," retorted the bow-legged puncher, shoving in chips.

"And again."

"Hmp! Claim an ace in the hole, do you? Well, I'll jes' give it one more li'l' kick."

Hollister had showing a deuce of hearts, a trey of clubs, an ace of spades, and a four of hearts. He might have a five in the hole or an ace.

Bandy had a pair of jacks in sight.

Dud called.

"You see it," growled Bandy. "One pair."

His opponent flipped over an ace of diamonds. "One pair here--aces."