"Would you have mercy on me if I were?"
"I should be sorry for you, but I couldn't let you go."
"You won't believe me, but it's the God Almighty's truth: I didn't know
Joe intended to kill that sheep. He asked me to show him over the pass. I
had no intention of killing anything. I wish to God you would let me go!"
His voice was tense with pleading.
"How about this, Gregg?" called Ross. "Your guide insists he had no hand
in killing the ram?"
"He fired first, and I fired and finished him," retorted Gregg.
"'Twas the other way," declared Edwards. "The beast was crippled and
escaping--I killed him with my revolver. I didn't want to see him go off
and die--"
"I guess that settles it," said Cavanagh, decisively. "You take your
medicine with Joe. If the justice wants to let you off easy, I can't help
it, but to turn you loose now would mean disloyalty to the service. Climb
back into your saddle."
Edwards turned away with shaking hands and unsteady step. "All right," he
said, "I'll meet it." He came back to say: "There's no need of your saying
anything about what I've told you."
"No, you are a stranger to me. I know nothing of your life except that I
found you with Joe, with this pack on your horse."
"Much obliged," said he, with a touch of bitter humor.
To the casual observer in a town of this character there was nothing
specially noticeable in three horsemen driving a pack-horse, but to those
whose eyes were keen the true relationship of the ranger to his captives
was instantly apparent, and when they alighted at Judge Higley's office a
bunch of eager observers quickly collected.
"Hello Joe, what luck?" called Ballard.
"Our luck was a little too good--we caught a game warden," replied the
young scapegrace.
The ranger was chagrined to find the office of the justice closed for the
day, and, turning to his captives, said: "I'm hungry, and I've no doubt
you are. I'm going to take you into Mike Halsey's saloon for supper, but
remember you are my prisoners." And to the little old remittance man,
Sifton, who caught his eye, he explained his need of a justice and the
town marshal.
"I'll try to find the judge," replied Sifton, with ready good-will, and at
a sign from the ranger, Gregg and his herder entered the saloon.
In fifteen minutes the town was rumbling with the news. Under Ballard's
devilry, all the latent hatred of the ranger and all the concealed
opposition to the Forest Service came to the surface like the scum on a
pot of broth. The saloons and eating-houses boiled with indignant protest.
"What business is it of Ross Cavanagh's?" they demanded. "What call has he
to interfere? He's not a game warden."
"Yes he is. All these rangers are game wardens," corrected another.
"No, they're not. They have to be commissioned by the Governor."
"Well, he's been commissioned; he's warden all right."
"I don't believe it. Anyhow, he's too fresh. He needs to have a halt.
Let's do him. Let's bluff him out."
Lee Virginia was in the kitchen superintending the service when one of the
waiters came in, breathless with excitement. "Ross Cavanagh has shot Joe
Gregg for killing sheep!"