don't yu, Trenton? An' then he plants the gun on yu--the on'y one o' that calibre in the district, so far as I could learn. That was why yu wasn't keen on weighin' the bullet at the enquiry; yu knew the guilty man.'
'I didn't,' the sheriff protested. 'I never thought o' Bundy. I figured it was--' He stopped, his frightened eyes on the owner of the Wagon-wheel.
Trenton stiffened in his chair, and his fingers closed convulsively. 'you suspected me, you whelp?' he rasped. 'By Heaven, if I had my strength-- The cowering wretch was not to escape. In two strides, Dan had him by the throat, his badge was torn off, and after being shaken until his teeth clashed in his jaws, he was flung on the floor.
'Get out before I tear you apart,' the young man panted. 'If yo're in town one hour from now, you hang.'
Foxwell did not doubt it. Scrambling to his feet, he stumbled towards the door, amid the jeers and curses of the onlookers, many of whom struck at him as he passed.
'That lets you out, Trenton,' Red Rufe said. 'I've one thing to thank yore people for: when they clubbed me up on 01' Cloudy, they brought back my memory, though I didn't let on--for reasons. Sorry I had to make a fool o' you, Doc.' *
'You didn't--I've always been one,' Malachi smiled. 'But I'm wiser now.' His gaze was on Kate Maitland.
Rufe addressed the banker. 'I'll trouble you to hand over my money.'
Maitland, conscious that he was wading in deep waters, did not know what to do. He appealed to Trenton, and got a snapped, 'Give it to him, of course.'
It took both arms and an effort on the banker's part, but Red Rufe held it easily with one hand. 'Now I'll tell you some-thin' else, Mister,' he said. 'The Circle Dot is also mine--Dave was on'y my manager, an' he had no power to raise cash on it. Yore mortgage ain't worth a cent.' Maitland's face grew white. 'But, though I don't like yore methods, the Dovers pay debts--of any sort. You'll get yores, on one condition.' He bent over and whispered.
'Certainly, Mister Dover, anything you say,' the banker promised eagerly, colour returning a little to his cheeks. Garstone, slumped in his chair, brow furrowed in a heavy frown, was silent. He had failed; just when all seemed secure, his edifice of fraud and treachery had toppled about his ears. But something might still be saved from the wreck. He drew himself up and looked at Trenton.
'I want my third share of the Wagon-wheel.'
The rancher's clamped lips 'writhed in a bitter smile. 'Better apply to Maitland,' he replied. 'Mebbe he'll accept yore lyin' paper. The Wagon-wheel is no longer mine.'
The enormous strain to which he had subjected it was telling upon his enfeebled body. Beth, now sitting beside him, put a protecting arm about the bent shoulders.
'Don't fret, Uncle Zeb, everything will come right,' she whispered.
Maitland, who appeared to have recovered his poise, spoke plainly: 'I shall certainly require definite proof that the will is genuine.'
One of the two strangers who had been chatting with Yorky pushed forward. He was a keen-eyed, poker- faced fellow, dressed in the fashion of the big cities.
'If it's a question of handwriting, gents, perhaps I can help,' he said. 'I'm a bit of an expert.'
Garstone believed he had found a friend. 'I shall be indebted,' he replied, with a marked emphasis on the last word. On receiving the document, the unknown turned to Maitland. 'You got a known specimen of the signature on this?' he enquired.
The banker fumbled among his papers. 'Here is a draft which Mister Trenton signed in my presence.'
The expert compared the two signatures, discussing them with his companion, who had joined him. 'I guess that settlesit,' he said, handed back the draft, and put the will in his pocket.
'Here, I want that,' Garstone cried.
'So do the New York police,-and they want you with it,' the man returned dryly. 'So bad, too, that they've sent me to fetch you.'
The blood drained from Garstone's face, but he made an attempt to fight the fear which possessed him. 'You are making a mistake,' he said. 'I am Chesney Garstone--'
'Yep, that's a swell monicker,' the man replied, and beckoned to yorky. 'Now, son, this is the guy you wrote us about, ain't it? Tell him who he is--he 'pears to have forgotten.'
'Look at that kid's face,' one of the crowd whispered to his neighbour. 'Nothin' you could offer him would buy this moment.'
He was right; Yorky would not have sold it for the contents of Red Rufe's Cache. Pointing to Garstone, he cried shrilly, 'That's the Penman--Big Fritz, forger an bank-buster. He done the Burley Bank job an' killed the night-watchman. I've seed him scores o' times in O'Toole's joint on th' Waterfront.'
To the breathless spectators of the scene the man seemed to become older before their eyes; instead of a confident, bumptious bully they saw a haggard craven. Even his voice had changed.
'He lies, I don't know the Waterfront. I never heard of Mike O'Toole--'
The stranger's laugh stopped him. 'Maybe, but who told you it was Mike?' he asked. 'Well, we all make slips, and we had you fixed anyway.'
'You can't arrest me here for an offence committed in another State,' Garstone said desperately.
'That's my part,' the second man said. He flicked aside his coat, showing the badge of a deputy-sheriff. 'You'll be taken to Tucson, and sent on to New york.'
Garstone shuddered. There was no escape; these cold-featured men would take him away to--death. He cursed the luck which had sent him to Rainbow; cursed that other fugitive from the underworld who had brought about his undoing. He visioned again the cave in the mountains, and heard a voice, 'Rats has teeth, an' can bite.' The rat had bitten, even then, and the wound would be fatal. The thought that this puny brat had bested him bred a madness in his brain. If he must die, it should not be alone; that grinning little beast .. . Livid with fury, he snatched a pistol from beneath his open coat and levelled it at yorky's breast.
'You first--vermin,' he hissed.
The words were his last mistake. Ere he could press the trigger, a gun cracked, and he staggered, pitched sideways, and rolled off the platform, the weapon dropping from his twitching fingers. Sudden shoved his smoking six-shooter back into his belt.
'I had to do it,' he said to the officers. 'Yo're journey has been wasted.'
'Oh, I guess not,' the New Yorker replied callously. 'Dead or alive was my instructions; he'll be less trouble in a box.' And, as the puncher turned away, added, to his companion, 'Did you see it? Hell! I'm glad they didn't ask me to collect him.'
In the midst of the excitement, as the jostling crowd surged forward to get a sight of the corpse, someone touched his elbow--a very pale and trembling Yorky.
'Say, Mister, d'yer think Clancy'll git promotion fer this?' he questioned.
'Sure, he won't be a common flat-foot no more,' the man replied. 'There's a reward too; you both ought to come in on that.'
'I don't want none of it--tell 'em Clancy can have my share,' yorky said quickly. 'He's got a wife an' little 'uns. He was kind ter me. I'd like fer him to know I'm well an' doin' fine.'
'I'll tell him my own self, son,' the detective promised, and when the boy had gone, 'Clancy said he was a lunger, but hell, he don't look it. Pity more of our slum lads can't git out here and have a chance of becomin' real men.'
Chapter XXVI
Two weeks later, Dan, following the course of the Rainbow on his way to the Wagon-wheel, came upon two saddled ponies contentedly cropping the rich grass of the river bank. Rounding a clump of willow, he discovered the owners, Malachi and Kate Maitland, sitting very close together, and so completely oblivious to the rest of the world that they failed to notice his approach.
'Space on this range bein' limited, folks naturally has to crowd one another,' he mused aloud.
The girl started, flushed, and tried to draw away, but her companion clasped her waist more firmly, looked up, and grinned.
