clawed at his tropical vocabulary with great success. It was only too true—Skinny had become absolutely lost, and the angry Bar-20 puncher crawled furiously this way and that without success, until Skinny gave him a hot clew that stung his face with grit and pebbles. He backed, sneezing, around a rock and wrestled with his dignity. Skinny, holed up not far from the canyon's rim, was throwing a mental fit and calling himself outrageous names. "An' he's been trailin' me! H—l of a fine fool I am; I 'm awful smart today, I am! I done gave up my teethin' ring too soon, I did." He paused and scratched his head reflectively. "Huh! This is some populous region, an' th' inhabitants have pe-culiar ways. Now I wonder who's trailin' him? I 'm due to get cross-eyed if I try to stalk 'em both."
A bullet, fired from an unexpected direction, removed the skin from the tip of Skinny's nose and sent a shock jarring clean through him. "Is that him, th' other feller, or somebody else?" he fretfully pondered, raising his hand to the crimson
