an' the rest driven off?'
'S'pose yu tell us how yu an' yore outfit come to be here a-tall,' Sudden suggested drily.
Sark reached out the note he had received from Mullins. 'There's the answer,' he cried. 'When I got that, I raised the coin an' come hot-foot to release her from the scoundrel. I fetched my men in case he tried any tricks.' Sudden read the document and passed it to his companions. 'Where's the money?'
'I paid it over, an' if you mutton-heads hadn't butted in, she'd 'a' bin at the Dumb-bell hours back, where I'm takin' her soon as she's fit to go.'
'An' willin',' the marshal added. 'She's safe now, an' in the meantime, we're goin' to try yu, Sark. Better sit down, it may take time.'
'Try me?' the cattleman repeated. 'On what charge? I've explained my presence here, an' I didn't fire a shot at you. There's no law '
'We're makin' one. Nippert, yu'll act as judge; select yore jury. Better take his gun.' Right and left the accused man looked and saw none but stern faces. Primitive as the procedure was, it had a gravity which brought inward qualms. He fortified himself with the reflection that they could know nothing. His mind travelled to the Dumb-bell, and the body in the empty room; he should have hidden it. If that damned nigger went poking about ... The voice of the judge recalled him.
'Well, marshal, we're ready if you are.' Amid complete silence, Sudden stepped forward and pointed to the accused. 'This man calls hisself Jesse Sark,' he began. 'His real name is Ezra Kent. Sark died in the penitentiary at Bentley before his uncle was killed. I have a writing from the Warden to prove it.' The calm statement produced ejaculations of incredulity from the hearers, and every eye was on the lolling, disdainful figure in the chair. Though the blow was a severe one, Sark had, since he learned of the marshaI's visit to Bentley, been more or less expecting it, and he had his answer ready. He forced a laugh.
'So that's why you went?'
'How did yu know I'd gone a-tall?'
'Oh, dicky-birds tell tales.'
'Yeah, dirty dicky-birds,' Sudden retorted. Some of the Welcomers sniggered. 'An' yu sent Squint to close my mouth--for keeps?'
'Never heard o' the gent,' Sark replied.
'Well, it don't matter. Let's get back to the trail we were followin'.'
'Suits me,' the prisoner agreed. He was beginning to feel more comfortable. 'I'll tell you somethin' you couldn't 'a' discovered at Bentley because they don't know it. Kent robbed the bank where I was employed, an' bein' a friend o' his, I was--unjustly--roped in as an accomplice. We were sentenced to the same term, an'. sent to the pen together. On the way, we arranged to swap identities--it was mainly a prank, to put one over on the Warden, but we had a dim idea it might help when we got out. It worked; the prison people were a mite careless, mebbe, but we were pretty much the same age, build, an' not unlike in appearance. So when Kent died he was buried as me, which was a complication we hadn't figured on. That makes yore writin' worth nothin' a-tall.' The marshal looked at the impostor almost with respect --the fellow was cleverer than he had supposed. He did not for a moment credit the story, but it sounded plausible enough.
'Is there anyone who can prove what yu say?' Beneath his breath, Sark cursed himself; the man who could have supported his fabrication was lying stiff and stark at the Dumb-bell. He made a negative gesture.
'When I come out I resumed my own name, an' natur ally, I didn't talk none,' he replied. 'I don't know '
'There's one here can show he's tellin' a pack o' lies,' a voice interrupted, and Sloppy slouched from the wall. 'What d'yu know about this?' Sudden asked.
'That he ain't the fella he's purtendin' to be.' The man in the chair regarded this new witness with derision. 'He musta found Jake's private store--he's drunk,' he said.
'I ain't neither,' Sloppy rejoined. 'An' even if I was, I'd reckernize my own son.' He gazed around, enjoying the sensation his statement had evoked, and then, 'Guess all o' you think I'm soused, but yo're wrong.' He shot a shaft at the accused. 'What was yore father's first name?' The question jolted Sark sadly; he felt the ground slipping again from beneath his feet. He could not answer.
'How was yore mother called before she married?' The badgered man pulled himself together; he must find some excuse. 'I can't remember these details--I had a bad illness
'Liar,' Sloppy burst in scornfully. 'Yo're just a pore fraud; you did oughta studied up the Sark family a bit more. Well, folks, I'm Ray Sark, on'y brother to Amos, an' father o' Jesse; I'm tellin' you that tinhorn there is no son o' mine.' Nippert stilled the hubbub by rapping on the table with the butt of his gun, and turned a severe eye on the witness.
'If you've knowed all along this warn't Jesse Sark, why ain't you spoke afore?'
'I was scairt, Ned,' the little man admitted. 'You see, it was me found Amos first of all that mornin'. I'd recent come to Drywash, an' was on my way to try an' patch things up atween us. I can see him now lyin' there at the side o' the trail. He was hurt mortal, but just before he passed out, he opens his eyes, an' sez, `So it was you? Well, it won't put nothin' in yore pocket, nor that time-servin' pup who blotted the name o' Sark; it all goes to Mary.' Thatsuited me, but I'm in a jam; if it gits knowed I was on the spot, folks'll shore figure--like Amos--that I shot him on the chance o' gittin' somethin'. So I starts his hoss for the ranch, an' lit out. When I learns o' the will givin' the Dumbbell to my son, I'm scairt wuss'n ever, it bein' a bigger reason for my committin' the crime. Jesse havin' died--which I don't know then--an' this fella takin' his place, don't clear me o' that suspicion. So I took the coward's course, let my whiskers grow, an' drifted to Welcome--where I was a stranger, hopin' somethin' would turn up. It did--Jim come.' This halting recital elicited a laugh of ridicule from Sark. 'He ain't drunk, he's mad,' he said. 'Likely, ain't it? A fine, well-stocked range is left to his boy an' he lets another man grab it. He claims to be Ray Sark, my father; I say he is not. Looks to me as if he wiped out Amos an' is tryin' to pin the job on me.' Silence followed the accusation and Sloppy got some doubtful looks. Then it was seen that the marshal was holding a small brass box on the palm of his hand.
'I found this on the spot where Amos Sark was killed,' he said to the prisoner. 'Do you recognize it?'
'I remember you showed it to me.'
'An' yu wanted to buy it. Why?'
'Just curiosity,' the other shrugged.
'To find out if the initials E. K. were scratched inside the lid, huh? Well, they are.' Sark's face remained expressionless. 'Means nothin' to me,' he said, and turned sharply on Sloppy. 'Got anyone to say you are Ray Sark?' The little man was taken aback. 'Mebbe if I peeled this hair off'n my face somebody in Drywash would remember me,' he said doubtfully. 'But I warn't there long.'
'How comes it Mary Gray don't remember, her uncle?' Sloppy grinned. 'Because she ain't seen him, as such, since she was a tiny toddler, which you'd 'a' knowed if you were the fella you claim to be.'
'I did know, I was just testin' you,' Sark returned coolly. If he could only gain a respite, reach the Dumb-bell, perform a certain task, find and destroy the lawyer's papers... . He resolved on a bold stroke. Pointing to Sloppy, he went on, 'You heard him. Tells you he's Ray Sark, but can't prove it. Tells you I'm not Jesse Sark, but if you give me time, I can show that I am. If Seth Lyman was here '
'He is,' croaked a reedy voice.
The men grouped around the doorway stood aside to allow the passage of a strange pair. A big negro, helping, almost carrying a shrivelled weed of humanity in a skirted black coat and blood-stained boiled shirt. From his waxen-white face, deep-sunk eyes flared feverish hate, and a dreadful determination. With the inevitability of Death itself he moved forward and stopped in front of the accused.
The gathering watched their progress in amazed silence. Upon Sark their appearance was petrifying. Open- mouthed, and with a clammy fear constricting his heart, he gazed distraught at the man he had left for dead in the Dumb-bell ranch-house. In those vengeful eyes he read his doom and his trembling lips framed a frantic appeal :
'Seth, save me,' he whispered. 'We can still make good. I swear I'll ' A hideous laugh from the lawyer stilled the remainder of the sentence.
'Hark to him,' he taunted. 'Begging mercy from one who has tasted the torments of Hell to come here and destroy him.' He paused for a moment, gathering strength, and then, stabbing a finger at the cowering wretch in the chair, 'There sits Eza Kent, liar, thief, traitor, and murderer. Listen: I always coveted the Dumb-bell range, and
