The Greatest Westerns of Ernest Haycox. Ernest Haycox

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      WHEN A MAN THINKS

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      For a dead man, Dave Denver exhibited singular symptoms. He lay on his bed at D Slash, a row of pillows propped to either side. His head was encased in an enormous ball of bandages that ran from crown to chest and exposed only a bruised nose, a cut mouth, and a pair of rebellious eyes. One of his arms was splinted all the way down, and nothing showed but the tips of his fingers; and at present he twiddled them one at a time, meanwhile muttering something about Sweet Adeline in a cracked voice. This was an innovation; he hadn't tried it during the preceding two days, but a man flat on his back will try anything once. Sometimes the results are gratifying. In this instance it brought Lyle Bonnet into the room on a dead run.

      "What's the matter, Dave?"

      Denver didn't turn his head. He couldn't turn his head. But he broke off singing. "Nothing! Why all the lather?"

      "Great guns!" snorted Bonnet. "I heard yuh a-groanin' and a- sobbin' and I thought yuh had a spasm."

      "I was singing. No law against it."

      "No-o," reflected Bonnet. "That is, not for actual bona-fide singin'. Was I you, I believe I'd whistle instead."

      "Oh, all right," muttered Dave fretfully. "I just wanted to see if my chest was in order. I guess it is. See them fingers? I can move 'em. Nothin' busted down there. Wish Doc would come. I want to get the verdict on this left arm. I wish I could get up and move my legs."

      "No, cut that out. Ain't I had grief enough without arguin' with yuh? You got yore orders."

      "Huh, I got no more say-so around this dump than a dish washer," opined Denver. "Lyle, ever reflect on the wonders of nature? No? Well, you ought. Improve your education. I have. See that fly on the bedpost? That's Oscar. I reckon you've always held the common misguided opinion that flies are hostile insects, ain't you? Dead wrong, Lyle. Oscar loves me. If he's kissed me once he's kissed me fifty times. And I suppose you hold that flies are unclean animals? Ain't right. Oscar washes ever' fifteen minutes. How do I know? Well, he takes a seat on my nose to do his laundry. Regular ceremony about it. First he lifts his left laig and bats himself on the nose. Then he makes a swipe at his ears with the other laig—"

      "Flies ain't got ears," remarked Bonnet glumly.

      "Didn't I tell you folks was all haywire about flies? Biggest ears you ever saw. When he sleeps he covers his eyes with 'em. He turns himself around like a dog. On my nose, see? Two-three times. Then he squats and drops anchor. After which he lops his ears down. He's got a lullaby song, too. Kinda pretty in a flyish way—"

      "Quit movin' yore head."

      Denver groaned. "Some day I'm just naturally goin' to tie the can to you, Lyle."

      "I wish to Gawd yuh would," muttered Bonnet. "If I take much more punishment I'll go batty. Ever since we pulled that fake burial 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?"

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