when Amos Sark made me his man of business, I saw my way. I meant to use young Jesse, but when he died in gaol, I had to content myself with this--thing. Forging the will was a simple matter, and the fact that the heir was not known around here seemed to make success certain.' He halted again, and the spectators of this weird scenestood dumb while this fragile creature, obviously dying on his feet, fought for time to compass his vengeance. Sark, fascinated, could not drag his fearful gaze from those blood-drained lips which were condemning him to the darkness of eternity.
'Killing Amos was no part of my plan, but Ezra couldn't wait. We got the range, and nobody suspected until Welcome gets a new marshal and this fool has to fall foul of him; if he'd made friends instead of foes . . .' His glazing eyes never left the object of his scorn, and the consuming hatred which had enabled him to endure the terrible ride from the Dumb-bell still sustained him. The pitiless accusation continued.
'you paid Mullins to steal the girl, meaning to force her into marriage and so make your title good; you failed. You offered five hundred dollars for the marshal's murder, and failed again.' In his shaking hand he thrust out a small sheaf of papers. 'You even failed to find these--my confession, and the real will, leaving everything to Mary Gray.' He grimaced horribly. 'I told you they were in a safe place and so they were--the safest place in the world to a bungler like you, right under your nose; you stepped over them a dozen times a day at the ranch. Ha! that touches you.' Bitter chagrin came and went in the tortured eyes. The lawyer's voice weakened to a mere whisper. 'You tried to kill me, and I--live--to--hang-you.' The last words were almost inaudible. His head fell forward, and the sagging form collapsed in Juba's grasp. He lowered it gently to the floor, and bent for a moment.
'Sho' is daid--dis time,' he said.
No one spoke, but he marshal removed his hat, and the others followed suit.
As one awakening from an evil dream. Sark wrenched his gaze from the body, and furtively scanned the grim faces around him. All told the same story; he could see no spark of compassion in any one of them. An appalling despair bit into his brain. Nippert spoke:
'Ezra Kent, have you anythin' to say?' He heard himself talking incoherently. 'It was Lyman's plot. I had to do what he said--I was in his power. When I refused, at the ranch, he threw a gun on me; I struck him in self- defence. For God's sake, have pity.'
'What pity did you show Amos Sark?'
'Lyman forced me ' he began, and stopped as he saw the judge was looking at the jury.
In turn each shook his head, and a sweat broke out in beads of ice on his brow. His body shook as with an ague. From his swollen, livid face the eyes protruded, and the squirming lips transformed it into a hideous human travesty. Spellbound, the onlookers saw him try to rise, but his knees buckled beneath him, and with a choking cry of 'Mercy ! ' he pitched headlong across the man he had slain. Nippert was the first to reach him. His exclamation was brief.
'Finished,' he announced. 'Died o' sheer fright, seemin'ly. I never see the like. Where's Jim?' The marshal had slipped out unnoticed in the excitement, but returned in time to hear a flippant comment by a Bar O puncher:
'Less trouble for us. How many ropes needed now?'
'Nary a one,' Sudden told him. 'Mister Death has had a plenty big harvest a'ready.'
'Allasame, them fellas are rustlers,' Owen objected. 'They stole my steers an' shot down my boys; I'm hangin' 'em.'
'Yu'll have to catch 'em first. I figured that was how yu'd feel, so I turned 'em loose. They're leavin' the country, an' I'll bet they ain't delayin' any.' The rancher glared at him. 'You'd no right to do that, even though you are marshal.'
'I ain't--I resigned before I sent 'em off. Sloppy, didn't yu give Ned my star?'
'Done forgot,' the little man said, with an unrepentant grin. 'Things was happenin' so quick.'
'So yu see, John,' Sudden continued, 'if yu must have a necktie party, yu gotta be content with me.' He smiled as he spoke, and the very absurdity of the suggestion brought an answering laugh all round, save from the cattleman. The saloon-keeper put the matter bluntly:
'After what he's done, I reckon the Bar O owes him that.' John Owen was a just man. 'Yo're right, Ned,' he admitted. 'Sorry I spoke outa turn, Jim. Welcome can't do without you. Shake.' Their hands met, and Sudden said something they were to recall later :
'The man who can't be done without ain't been born yet.'
Chapter XXII
IT was some days later, and Welcome, having duly celebrated the defeat and dispersal of the outlaws, resumed the uneven tenor of its way.
The marshal and his deputy, chairs tilted back, were taking the morning sun in front of their abode. For some time they had smoked in silence, and then Dave said abruptly :
'When do we hit the trail, Jim?'
'Day or two,' the other replied absently, and then, 'We? What yu talkin' of? yo're stayin' here.'
'I--am--not. Hell ! why couldn't yu leave things be 'stead o' rakin' up ancient hist'ry, an' unsettlin' everybody?' The marshal stared at him. 'Yu talked this over with Mrs. Gray?'
'No,' the boy snapped. 'What yu take me for?'
'The biggest chump the Lord ever put breath into,' Sudden said pleasantly, and got up.
Despondently the young man saw him stroll along the street, pausing now and then to chat with a passer-hy. 'Jim don't understand,' he muttered miserably.
He was wrong, the marshal understood very well. The Widow's face lit up when he entered, but fell again when she saw that he was alone.
'Dave been in?' he asked casually.
'No, and he didn't come yesterday,' she told him, adding with a brave show of indifference, 'He must have lost his appetite.'
'S'posed to be a reason for that, ain't there?' Sudden queried, and noted the quick flush. 'Guess it's liver in his case--he needs exercise, an' he'll get it when we start our travels again.'
'He's going away?' The cheeks were white now. 'But why?'
'Dave's changed the last day or two. He's that modest I don't hardly know him--just an ornery no'-count puncher he calls hisself. Talks dangerous, too, about makin' a pile o' money, pronto.'
'Whatever for?'
'I dunno. Mebbe he wants somethin' that seems out of his reach.' The girl's eyes glistened. 'Jim,' she said softly, 'you are the best friend I ever had. Do you think ?'
'I'll fix it,' Sudden broke in, and beat a rapid retreat. As 'he approached the lounger outside the office, he quickened his pace.
'The Widow is hurt,' he said, and turned his grinning face aside as Dave leapt from his chair and raced for the restaurant.
Flinging open the door, he dashed in to find the lady leaning against one of the tables, and the look which welcomed him was something a mere man is lucky to see once in a lifetime. As his hungry arms closed about her, he cried :
'Mary, what's the matter? Jim said yu were hurt.'
'Dear old Jim,' she smiled. 'I was--you were going away.' His hold tightened. 'But, girl dear, I'm just '
'An ornery no'count puncher,' she quoted.
'Yeah, an' yu got a ranch. What else could a fella do?' From the shelter of his shoulder came a muffled whisper. 'I've got a heart, too. A fella could stay and look after--them both.'
* * *
That same evening, in the privacy of his own parlour at the Red Light, the saloon-keeper tried again to persuade the mashal to remain.
'Shucks!' Sudden smiled. 'Ever hear o' the Wandering Jew? He had the travel itch, same as me, an' there's no cure for it, ol'-timer; I gotta go.' The saloon-keeper gave it up. 'Welcome will find it mighty hard to part with you,' he said glumly.
* * *
In the morning, the town awoke to find the marshal had solved the problem for it and himself by disappearing
