the prisoner. 'That's where yo're wrong, Judge,' he said. 'I'm suggestin' that the rnan sittin' beside yu, Bartholomew, oughta be standin' here instead o' me, an' I've got evidence to prove it.'
A shuffling of feet and craningofnecks proclaimed the sensation this statement evoked. In response to a nod from Severn, the saloon-keeper handed to him the book and notes taken from the Bar B ranch. Bartholomew answered the accusation with a scornful laugh.
'Trot out yore proof,' he cried.
Severn held up the account book. 'That yores?' he asked.
The rancher stared surprisedly. 'I reckon it is, though howyu--'
'The writin' in it would be yores, too?'
'O' course. What's that gotta do with it?'
'I'm tellin' yu. When the White Masks run off one o' my outfit, they left a notice behind sayin' what I had to do to get him back. Here's the notice, an' it's written on a page taken outa that book, as yu can see by the number on it, an' the handwritin' is the same.'
There was hardly a sound in the room as he passed the book and the paper up to the Judge, who examined them and looked inquiringly at Bartholomew. The rancher, who had been doing some quick thinking, had his reply ready.
'I missed that book 'bout a month or so ago,' he began. 'I reckon it was stole by a fella named Darby who had a grudge against me, an' is now ridin' for the Lazy M. The writin' is a pretty good imitation o' mine.'
'Which yu didn't recognise when I showed yu the notice at the time I brought Shadwell in,' Severn reminded him. 'Bah ! I scarcely looked at it,' Bartholomew lied.
'As for the book bein' stole, that's correct; I took it from theBar B ranch-house last night--there's another charge for yu, sheriff,' pursued the prisoner smilingly. 'An' at the same time, in a locked drawer o' yore desk, Bartholomew, I found these. Rapson will tell us what they are.'
He handed the rollofbills to the banker, who compared them winh a list he took from his pocket. 'I paid these to the prisoner when he drew out his money,' Rapson said.
Bartholomew and the Judge were whispering together. Then the latter looked at the prisoner.
'Well,' he sneered. 'What's your point?'
Severn saw that he was fighting a hopeless battle, but it was not in the man's nature to give in.
'It oughtn't to need explainin',' he said acidly. 'That book an' the notice prove that Bartholomew is chief o' the White Masks. When they raided the Lazy M an' abducted Miss Masters, they took my bills an' substituted stolen ones to implicate me. I might as well add, Judge, that I broke outa gaol to get them things, an' T returned o' my own free will.' A whimsical smile hovered on his lips. 'I had to make a devilofa row to get back into gaol again.'
Some of the spectators, remembering the sceneofthe morning, guffawed at the recollection. Bartholomew leant back in his chair and also laughed.
'Mighty smart, Severn,' he said. 'Yu oughta be writin' books, not stealin' 'em.' He looked round the room. 'Well, boys, yu better take an' string me up for collarin' my own coin.'
The Judge, jury and a number of those present smiled widely at the joke, but there were some who looked dubious. Bartholomew evidently noticed this, for he directed a meaning glance at the jury, and immediately Muger, who was acting as foreman, spoke.
'See here, Judge,' he said. 'All this jaw ain't gettin' us nowhere. The jury don't want to hear no more about the robbery; this fella's found with the goods on him; it's an open an' shut case.'
'If you have come to a decision on that charge, gentlemen, we can get on with the murder,' Lufton said.
'Whose murder--mine?' asked Severn sarcastically. 'It amounts to that, yu know, because the man who could prove I had nothin' to gain by Masters' death ain't here. I mean Judge Embley.'
'He is under grave suspicionofbeing your accomplice,' Lufton said severely. 'And the fact that he is not to be found bears it out. He got you your present job?'
'It was through him I met Masters,' Severn admitted.
'And soon after you go to the Lazy M, your employer disappears,' the Judge went on. 'How did you get the rifle he was known to have taken with him?'
If he had hoped the abrupt question would discompose the accused he was disappointed; Severn told a plain storyofthe slayingofIgnacio and the findingofthe weapon.
'An' that's a lie!' Barnholomew burst out. 'Ignacio was heard of in Mexico a few weeks back, as my foreman, Penton, can testify.'
The prisoner smiled grimly; he had his doubts about that. Again he produced a slipofpaper. 'Here's somethin' else I found on the Greaser,' he said. 'Yu'll notice it's another imitation o' Bartholomew's penmanship.'
The Judge gave it a casual glance, and then for a moment his eyes met those of the Bar B owner meaningly.
'You seem fond of writing,' he said. 'Did yu tell anyone about the gun?'
'On'y Miss Masters,' was the reply.
'And she's missing, too; all the people who might corroborate your statements appear to be,' Lufton commented cuttingly. 'Any more evidence, sheriff?'
This was Tyler's great moment, and he prepared to make the most of it. Snrutting forward, he told how he and his deputy, Jake, riding through The Sink, had noticed tracks, followed them up, and found the missing rancher's clothes. One by one he produced the garments, handing them to the Judge.
'An' underneath 'em we found this,' he finished. 'Yu'll see it's got the prisoner's initials on it.'
Tense silence reigned as nhe weapon was passed first to the Judge and then, at his direction, to the accused man who examined it curiously.
'Is that yours?' came the question.
'Yeah, it was taken frorn me by the White Masks,' the puncher replied without hesitation. 'But it didn't have them letters on it then. Yu don't print as well as yu write, Bartholomew.'
'Pretty good at findin' answers, ain't he?' the Bar B cattleman mocked, and the jury, at whom the remark was directed, smiled in agreement.
Bent stepped forward and held up a hand. ''Scuse me, Judge, I'm puttin' in a protest that thisyer trial ain't reg'ler,' he said. 'It's bin rushed an' the accused ain't had no chanct to prepare a defence or git his witnesses. The prosecution ain't proved any motive for his bumping off Masters, an' the evidence makes him out a plain dam fool, which every man here knows he ain't. He tries to cash bills at the bank he stole 'em from, an' he hides the clothes o' the fella he murdered an' leaves his gunwith his initials on with 'em. I put it to the jury, does the prisoner look plumb loco?'
Lufton's smile was oily as he replied to this appeal.
'Mister Bent, as a friend of the accused, has to raise objections,' he explained to the jury. 'What he does not realise is that clever criminals get over-confident and make mistakes. As for motive, the court knows that the murder was partofa deep plot to obtain the dead man's property.' He looked craftily at the twelve citizens. 'If more evidence is required--' Muger shook his head. 'Very well, gentlemen, you may retire and consider your verdict.'
Then Bartholomew flung his bombshell.
'I reckon the jury oughta know, Judge, that this fella who's been masqueradin' here under the name o' Severn, used to be better knowed as Sudden, the outlaw,' he rasped out, with a vindictive glare in the directionofthe dock.
The whistleofindrawn breath and a medleyofejaculations greeted the announcement, and every man in the room pressed forward to get a good look at the famous gunman, as though they were seeing him for the first time. Excited whispers passed from mouth to mouth as storiesofhis exploits were recalled. Given his guns, he might have walked outofthe court unhurt, such had been his repute, but lacking them ... In the midstofit all, the man himself sat, his face a mask of immobility, his eyes coolly contemplating the men who were to decide whether he lived or died. The low buzzofconversation and the scrapingofshifted feet on the sanded floor ceased when Muger, who had been whispering to his men, stood up.
'There ain't no need to retire, Judge,' he stated. 'We're all agreed.'
'And your verdict is?'
