"Well," said the district attorney, "you can't hold this man on any
such biased evidence as this."
"But you see I am holding him," pointed out Billy Wingo.
"They'll get him out on a writ of habeas corpus."
"They? Who's they?"
"His friends. I suppose the man has friends."
"Oh, yes," acquiesced Billy, "the man has friends. Too many friends."
The district attorney looked away. "You'd better let him escape--or
something," he suggested brazenly. "We--we mustn't be made ridiculous,
you know."
"We? We? Don't get me mixed up with you, Rale. I'm particular who I
bracket with, sort of. Another thing, the last time you were in here
you went out on your head, remember. Well, lemme point out that you're
here, I'm here, so's the door, and history is just the same thing over
again."
The close-set little eyes wavered. "I tell you, Wingo, the case looks
black for you too."
Billy Wingo rolled and lit a placid cigarette before he spoke. "Black?
For me?" Inquiringly.
"I'm afraid so."
"You mean you hope so. Go on."
"There are a great many strange things about the whole affair. For
instance, why was Judge Driver wearing your clothes when the bodies
were found? If, as you say, you saw the whole thing, why did you not
prevent the murder? How do we know that you did not kill both Tom
Walton and the judge and then lay the blame on this stranger?"
"You don't know," admitted Billy. "That's the worst of it. But you
will know. Yeah, you will know."
"I intend to look into your side of the case very closely, Wingo,"
declared the district attorney. "It may be that everything has not yet
been told."
"There is more in this than meets the eye," nodded Billy.
"Considerable more."
"If you persist in holding this man for a hearing," said Rale
impressively, "it may--will, I should say--involve you. I'd hate to
see you get into trouble."
"I'll bet you would," Billy concurred warmly. "You'd hate it like you
do your left eye. But I'm gonna gamble with you. I'll hold the man
till the judge decides what to do."
"In that case, I'll send for Judge Clasp at once."
"Why Judge Clasp? Why bother that old gent?"
"Because Driver's dead," the district attorney explained impatiently.
"We have to have a judge to hold the hearing."
"Oh, I know all about that. I've sent for one."
"Who?"
"Judge Donelson."
"But he's the Federal judge, and he lives way over in Hillsville,"
objected Rale. "Judge Clasp is nearer. In a case of this kind when
the judge of a district is unavailable, the nearest judge takes over
the district. The statutes----"
"The statutes say 'any judge,'" interrupted Billy Wingo. "On this
point I am quite clear. I looked it up to make sure. 'Any judge'
means 'any judge.' Nothing else. And you know that Judge Donelson is
a territorial as well as Federal Judge. Technicalities can't pull your
wagon out of this hole, Arthur, old settler."
"I shall send for Judge Clasp at once," bumbled Arthur, old settler.
"If you send right away, he should be here by day after to-morrow.
Yep, day after to-morrow at the earliest."
"Judge Donelson can't get here till the day after that," said Rale
triumphantly.
"Oh, he can't, can't he?" smiled Billy. "Unless he has an accident
he'll be here to-morrow. You see, Arthur, I started Riley Tyler off to
Hillsville ten minutes after I arrested Slike. That's why I'm gamblin'
that Judge Donelson will get here first."
The district attorney openly lost his temper. "I don't regard the
evidence as given sufficient for indictment. I shall ask the judge not
to hold him."
"Don't do anything rash, Arthur. Remember the hearing will be at the
Walton ranch to-morrow afternoon."
"The Walton ranch! It'll be held here in Driver's office, that's where
it will be held."
"Not a-tall. I want Judge Donelson to see the layout. Then he'll be
able to tell better what's what. The Walton ranch to-morrow afternoon.
Don't forget."
"Your Honor, I don't see how this man can be held," protested the
district attorney. "I claim that the sheriff's testimony is biased.
How do we know that it wasn't the sheriff himself who murdered both men
and wounded Slike?"
"You can easily see, Judge," put in the coroner smoothly, "How flimsy
the evidence is against the prisoner. It is practically his word
against the sheriff's The prisoner has explained everything--how he was
coming to the ranch on business and was arrested by the sheriff the
minute he stepped inside the doorway. Why, your Honor, it's the
plainest open-and-shut case I ever saw. Absolutely nothing to it."
"The coroner's right," boomed the district attorney. "And I hereby ask
that Dan Slike be released from custody and----" he paused dramatically.
"Well--" prompted Judge Donelson, his old eyes inscrutable.
"And I feel it my duty to charge the sheriff, William H. Wingo, with
the murder of Thomas Walton, the murder of Judge Driver, and assault
with intent to kill upon Daniel Slike."
"Didn't the coroner's jury bring in a verdict of 'at the hands of
persons unknown'?" inquired Judge Donelson.
"They did," admitted the district attorney, "but it was in direct
opposition to the evidence. Indeed, the coroner instructed the jurymen
otherwise."
"Then he exceeded his duty. But that by the way. The jury brought in
a 'persons unknown' verdict. However, I do not agree with the jury."
"I knew you would not," the district attorney cried triumphantly.
"No, I believe the person is known. Sheriff, will you tell us in your
own words, how you happened to be on hand in time to be a witness of
the murder of Judge Driver?"
Like so many trained seals those present turned their heads to stare at
the sheriff. Some eyes were friendly, some noncommittal, but the
majority were unfriendly. This was because the crowd consisted largely
of county office-holders. Billy gave a straightforward and detailed
account of everything that had led up to the murder of Judge Driver.
As he concluded his story Judge Donelson nodded a slow head. "Why did
you not immediately enter the ranch house after you looked in the
window and saw the boot soles of the dead man?"
"Judge," said Billy, with a whimsical smile, "suppose now you went out
hunting and you wanted to get more than one deer and had only one
cartridge, what would you do--shoot the first deer you saw or wait till
you got two in line?"
"I see," nodded the Judge. "I see. Still, Sheriff, there is the word
of Dan Slike. It would have been better had you had another witness."
"Another witness," said Billy. "If that's all you want I have one.
Riley Tyler, stand up."
The younger deputy stood up and was duly sworn. He deposed that the
sheriff's match signal to Guerilla Melody to send the judge down to the
house had been also a signal to him, Riley Tyler, to come down from the
flat and take position under the window directly opposite the one at
which the sheriff was posted. All this had taken place according to
plan. Riley Tyler had heard every word uttered by both the judge and
Dan Slike and had also seen Slike shoot the judge. Furthermore he had
talked with the Federal deputy marshal in Hillsville and learned that
the marshal had never even thought of asking Judge Driver to approach
the sheriff concerning the alleged bootlegging activities of Jake
Kilroe.
Riley Tyler concluded his testimony and sat down, taking occasion as he
did so to wink at the district attorney. The latter glared back with
frank dislike.
"The evidence I have just heard," said Judge Donelson, "is clear.
There is no shred, jot or tittle of it that throws suspicion on Sheriff
Wingo. I will hold Daniel Slike for the grand jury. If Judge Driver
were alive, I would hold him as accessory before and after the fact.
Do you still think, Mr. Rale, that Mr. Wingo should be held?"
"Why--uh--uh----" stalled the district attorney.
"Tell me," persisted Judge Donelson, "exactly what you think?"
But the district attorney did not dare tell Judge Donelson anything
like that. Instead he said, with a smile he strove to make natural and
pleasant:
"Hold Mr. Wingo? Certainly not. I have misjudged him. I am sure he
will not bear malice against me."
"Hold it against Mr. Rale?" said Billy, with the straightest face in
the world. "Certainly not. I have misjudged him. But I am sure he
will not bear malice against me."
Even the judge smiled.
Dan Slike, lying on an improvised bed of blankets in the corner of the
room, raised his head. "You'll never hang me, y'understand," said Dan
Slike. "And you ain't got a jail in the territory big enough to hold
me after I get shut of these scratches. I'll see you later, Sheriff."
Dan Slike added a curse or two and relapsed into silence. Not a
likable person, Mr. Slike. No, not at all.
"This," said Rafe Tuckleton, "is a helluva note."
"It's all your fault," the district attorney recriminated bitterly.
"You did most of it," flung back Rafe, always an enthusiastic player at
the great game of passing the buck. "You know damn well----"
"Who thought of it first?" interrupted the district attorney. "Who was
the bright li'l feller, I'd like to know?"
"Don't you try to ride me," snarled the genial Rafe. "Dontcha do it."
"Aw, shut up; you gimme a pain! Gawd, and I'll bet your parents
thought you was just too cunnin' for anything. It's a shame they let
you live. To think of all the fatal accidents that might have happened
to you, and didn't, almost makes a feller lose his faith in Providence.
'Oh, yes,' says you, 'Wingo will walk into the trap with his eyes shut.
It'll be just too easy.'"
"Well, the first part worked all right," protested Rafe Tuckleton.
"Dan downed Walton without any trouble. How could I tell Driver would
slip up on his part? I'm glad Slike downed him. Served him right for
being a fool. Reelfoot did his part all right, too."
"How do we know Reelfoot did? How do we know what happened before the
fraycas at Walton's? We don't. We don't know anything except that Tom
Driver is dead, Dan Slike wounded in the calaboose, and Skinny Shindle
has skedaddled."
"Skinny tell any one where he was goin'?"
"He did not. Soon as he heard that infernal Bill Wingo had pulled
through without a hole in him, Skinny saddled his horse and went
some'ers else a-whoopin'. And I don't think he expects to come back.
Oh, it's a fine mix-up all round, a fine mix-up."
"Sh-sh," cautioned Rafe. "Somebody coming--oh, it's you, Tip. 'Lo."
"Yeah, it's me, Tip," said O'Gorman, closing the door carefully and
sitting down on the only vacant chair. "Look here, Rafe, what did I
tell you about downing Tom Walton?"
"I ain't downed Tom Walton," denied Rafe sullenly.
"You had it done," insisted O'Gorman.
"How do you know I did?" dodged Rafe.
"By the way it was gormed up."
"I suppose now if you'd planned it----"
"I wouldn't have planned it in the first place. I told you to keep
your paws off, and now look at the damn thing."
"It wasn't my fault," barked back Rafe.
"Can't you say anything different?" the district attorney threw in
drearily.
"You don't even seem able to obey orders any more," said Tip O'Gorman.
"I don't have to take orders from you," flared up Rafe.
"No, you don't have to. Nobody has to do anything they don't want to.
But we've decided, Rafe, that hereafter you sit on the tail-board. You
don't pick up the lines again, see."
"Who's we?" demanded Rafe.
"Craft, Larder and myself."
"You can't do anything!" Contemptuously.
"No? For one thing, we can keep you from shipping so much as a single
cow."
"How?"
"Our ranges surround you on three sides, and where we don't fit in, the
mountains do. You can't drive through the mountains, and we won't let
you drive through us. That's how."
"Huh?"
"Yeah, it's root, hog, or die, feller. You gonna be good?"
"I--I suppose so."
"Good enough. One slip on your part and you know what happens, Rafe.
Bear it in mind, and it'll be money in your pocket."
"You talk like a minister."
"I wish I was one, preaching the funeral sermon over your grave. Lord,
what a stinking skunk you are, Rafe!"
"Look here----"
"Blah! You are a skunk. So crazy after money you had to go and hurt
li'l Hazel Walton. Damn your soul, I told you not to do anything to
hurt her! And you bulled right ahead! You lousy packrat, you've
broken that child's heart! She thought the world and all of her uncle,
she did. I tell you, Rafe, you ain't fit to drink with a Digger or eat
with a dog!"
"I ain't gonna fight with you," declared Rafe Tuckleton.
"I was hoping you would," averred Tip. "There'd be one tom-fool less
to worry about if you did."
"No, I can wait," said Rafe with a feline grin.
"Oh, I'll be watching you, you rattle-snake," nodded Tip.
"Go easy, you two!" snapped the district attorney, as a dog in the next
room began to bark. "There's somebody comin' up the path."
The squabble went dead.
"Good thing the wind's yowlin' its head off to-night," observed Tip
O'Gorman. "I forgot myself for a shake."
Rafe Tuckleton looked at the floor. There was venom in his heart and
death in his thoughts.
Tip O'Gorman fingered out the makings.
He was shaking in the tobacco when Billy Wingo opened the door and
strode without ceremony into the office. He was followed by Riley
Tyler. The latter slammed the door behind him and set his back against
it.
"Three li'l friends together," said Billy, his eyes gleaming at them
beneath the peak of his fur cap. "I saw your light as I was passing,
Arthur, and I thought I'd sift in and thank you for all those kind
words of yours yesterday. I appreciated 'em, you bet. You too, Rafe,
did about as well as could be expected. Tip is the only one I can't
thank."
He smiled lazily on Tip. The latter grinned back.
"It ain't my fault you can't," returned Tip cryptically.
Billy nodded, although naturally he did not grasp the other's meaning,
and said, "Got another li'l matter for you gentlemen. Finding you all
together thisaway is gonna save me trouble. I'm in luck to-night."
"Aw, spit it out!" Rafe directed rudely.
Billy looked pained. "Our long-faced li'l playmate seems all fussed up
over something. Well, boys will be boys, I suppose, and burned fingers
now and then have got to be expected."
He paused and regarded them gravely. Rafe's answering stare was
darkling, the district attorney's uncomfortable, while Tip's was
impersonal.
"I hope you boys are feeling generous to-night," resumed Billy.
Rafe Tuckleton stole a glance at O'Gorman. Generous?
"The fact is," went on the calm voice, "I'm takin' up a collection--a
collection for Tom Walton's niece, Hazel."
Billy thought that at the mention of the ranchman's name both the
district attorney and Tuckleton stiffened their slouching bodies, but
he could not be positive. The lamp on the table gave a poor, weak
light.
"Her uncle's gettin' downed thisaway will be a bad blow for her. He
was all she had. Y'understand now--the girl won't ever know that this
is any benefit like. She mustn't ever know. It's insurance on Tom's
life, see? Sam Prescott was keepin' the policy for him in his safe.
Tom must have forgot to tell her about it. That's what Sam's going to
tell her. How much will you boys give?"
Tip O'Gorman did not hesitate. "You can put us down for a thousand
apiece."
"_What!_" chorused the district attorney and Rafe Tuckleton.
The sheriff cocked an eyebrow at the two men. "You think it's too
little? Well, I guess maybe you're right. A thousand is enough for
Tip here, but you two are rich men. Say twice that--two thousand from
each of you will be about right."
The two rich men were speechless. But only for a moment.
"Two thousand!" gasped Rafe. "Not a nickel."
"Not a thin dime!" contradicted the district attorney.
"Say not so!" said Billy Wingo.