"What sort of a town is this?" he asked grievedly. "It offers a reward for bringin' in Jim Severn, an' when I fill the bill an' fetch him in, the sheriff renigs. Ain't there no honesty in this burg?"
The twinkling eyes belied the indignant tone, and there was a burst of merriment from the rnercurial citizens, severalofwhom advised Tyler to "pay up an' look pleasant."
"Where yu been then?" Tyler queried.
"Well, I'll tell yu," grinned the prisoner. "Yu see, that hole yu put me into ain't none too well ventilated--yu oughta see to that, sheriff, or yu'll lose custom--an' so I took a walk."
The whimsical explanation, delivered in a drawling, nonchalant voice, tickled the onlookers. The amusement created apprised the sheriff that he was again being made a figureoffun, and as usual, it rendered him furious. Why the accused man had returned he did not know, but here he was, unarmed and helpless. By some miracle, he, Tyler, had been delivered from the wrathofBartholomew. His bullying nature reasserted itself.
"Took a walk, huh?" he sneered. "Well, yu won't take another till yu go to the tree."
"Tried me a'ready, have yu?" Severn asked quietly.
With a gesture of rage, the sheriff turned to his two deputies, who had now appeared.
"Take him in an' tie his hands an' feet this time," he ordered, and beat a retreat, following his prisoner into the building.
"That fella's either loco or not guilty, an' he shore don't appear scatty," was one comment as the spectators dispersed.
Which was the impression the prisoner had aimed to create.
Chapter XX
FOR hours after Bartholomew had left her, Phil sat motionless in dull despair, waiting fearfully for his return. Her world seemed to have tumbled about her, and she could see no gleam of hope. The prospect of marrying the Bar B owner was utterly hateful; even had there been no other reason--and her heart told her different--he had shown too plainly the mannerofman he really was. Only once was the silence disturbed, when the dull reports of two pistol-shots startled her.
The harsh gratingofthe padlock--a now unwelcome sound --reminded her that Bartholomew was coming back for her answer, and she stood up. But insteadofthe bulky frame she expected, she saw that her visitor was the little one-eyed, bearded stranger she had seen in Hope. He beckoned to her.
"C'mon," he said hoarsely, but the girl shrank back.
"Where?" she asked nervously. "Is this a trap?"
"Shore it's a trap an' I'm takin' yu outofit," he retorted. "Glad yu done what I whispered to yu through the logs there."
"So it was you," she breathed, still doubtful.
The man nodded, and noting that yet she hesitated, said quietly, "I'm takin' yu to a friend. If yu'd rather wait for Black Bart--"
"No, no, I'll come with you," she replied hurriedly.
He led the way through the pines to another hut very similar to the one they had left, and unlocking the door, motioned her to enter. Standing facing the door, a look of grim expectancy on his face, was a man she recognised.
"Judge Embley ! " she cried, and her hopes sank again, for she could not forget that this man was Severn's friend, and was, according to Bartholomew, in the plot against her. The Judge's expression changed when he saw who his visitor was.
"So it is you, and not that blackguard from the Bar B," he said. He looked at the one-eyed man. "What's the game, my friend?" he asked.
The man shrugged his shoulders. "No game, Judge," he replied. "I'm willin' to make a dicker with yu." Embley looked his question. "There's a fella here passin' in his checks." He paused as the other nodded understandingly. "No, I didn't shoot him," he continued. "He got his in that ruckus the other day with Severn an' his men at the Cavern. Well, he's somethin' on his mind an' wants to go out with a clean slate. If yu'll come an' write down his statement an' the young lady will witness it, I'll take the both o' yu away from here."
Embley considered only for a moment, and then, "Lead the way," he said.
They followed him out of the pines, across a bare plateau to where stood a larger cabin, sheltered by an overhanging shelf of rock. It consistedoftwo rooms, the second of which, from the piles of blankets, was evidently a sleeping apartment. On twoofthese piles men were lying, one silent and the other moaning feebly. It was to the latter that the one-eyed man conducted them. The Judge looked at the other bed.
"Who is that?" he asked.
"Oh, Slick, actin' boss o' this crew," was the reply. "He's just--sleepin'."
Despite the careless tone, the girl shivered; she rememberedthe shots she had heard. The still figure lying in the shadow looked unnatural, and she could detect no movement. The occupant of the second bed claimed her attention. By the light of the lantern on an up-ended box, she could see that he wasofa type common enough on the frontier, a manofmiddle-age, with coarse, brutal features now somewhat softened by suffering. His tanned, unshaven face seemed to have been drainedofblood, and his eyes had sunk in their sockets. He coughed almost incessantly, and after each bout there was a stainofred on his lips.
"'Lo, Patch," he greeted feebly.
"'Lo, Mobey, how're yu makin' it?" asked the one-eyed man, and without waiting for a reply, continued, "I've fetched the Judge an' the young lady like I prornised." He turned to the lawyer and whispered, "Better get busy, he's down to his last chip "
Embley took paper and pencil from his pocket and motioned the girl to listen. The sick man understood.
"I ain't got much time, Judge, an' I'm puttin' things plain," he began. "Yu'll remember the holdin' up o' the Desert Edge stage some years back, when Tug Satters, the driver, was killed?" The judge nodded. "I was one o' the four what done it, an' I shot Satters," the other went on. "I didn't have no grudge agin him, but when we halted 'em, Tug dropped his lines an' reached back. T thought he was goin' for his gun, an' let drive. I figured after that he just forget to put his paws up an' was feelin' for his baccy, 'cause he hadn't got no gun. Well, I was sorry for Tug, but it was just a mistake, an' it ain't that I'm frettin' about. Here's the real reason I wanted yu, Judge; soon after the robbery I wrote out an' signed a paper sayin' the shootin' was did by another--a fella who warn't in the hold-up a-tall. I had to do it, Judge, or go to the pen myself for-somethin' else."
The weak voice faded out and a violent fitofcoughing shook the man's frame; his fingers gripped the blanket until it seemed the bones must burst the sun-burned skin. When he could speak again it was little more than a whisper.
"The name--I had to put--in that paper was--Philip Masters," he said painfully.
"My father," the girl breathed.
The Judge waved her to silence. Bending forward he said, "And the man who made you write it was--?"
"Bartholomew, o' the Bar B ! " the dying bandit gasped.
Embley saw that the end was near. Hurriedly he read aloud what he had written, and held up by Patch, Mobey scrawled his name on the paper. He watched eagerly while the Judge and the girl did the like, and then with a sighofcontent, dropped back."Bartholomew is--" he began, and said no more.
The lawyer drew the blanket over the face, folded up the paper and bestowed it in his pocket, and turned to the one-eyed man.
"What now?" he asked. "And how are we to name you, my friend?"
"Yu heard what he called me," the other replied with a jerkofhis thumb towards the bed. "That name'll do as well as another."
The Judge glanced again curiously at the other occupied shakedown. "That man sleeps very soundly," he said.
"Yeah, Slick's a good sleeper," Patch replied indifferently, and then, "We gotta be movin'--the other four'll be showin' up any time now, an' they'd make trouble."
"The other four?" Embley queried.