A chorusofconfirmatory nods, grunts and "Yu betchas" greeted the statement.
"Well, that job was pulled off by the gang Masters was hellin' around with," Patch continued. "He come out of a drunken daze the rnornin' after it happened, an' was told that he'd not on'y took part in the robbery, but done the shootin', an' he was shown a paper to that effect, signed by one o' the others. Not bein' able to recollect where he was the day before, he believed it. The fella that had the paper promised it'd never be used--said he got it as a protection for the rest. As yu know, the road-agents never were traced.
"The shock of it jolted Masters straight agin. He gave up racketin' about an' went back to his ranch, but he wasn't the same man; the memory o' that mad crime--for he didn't doubt he'd done it--preyed on his mind, an' then the devil that held that damnin' evidence began to prey on him, too."
He paused a moment. The silence was broken only by the birds and the stamping hoofsofrestless horses. The Bar B owner had lost his look of scornful unbelief, and there was fear in his eyes. He glanced furtively round, but he was hemmed in; there was nothing for it but to brazen things out. After all, they could have no prof; Masters was dead, and so were the others.
"At first it was only small sumsofmoney," the witness went on, "but they grew in size until at last Masters could raise no more. Then he had to give cattle, an' he began to see that nothin' less than his ranch an' his daughter would satisfy this human leech who, in the guiseofa friend, was suckin' him dry. He looked round for some way o' savin' what was left o' his property, an' the idea came to him that if he warn't there, the power o' the blackmailer would be gone. So he put a trustworthy man in charge o' the Lazy M, an' then--faded."
"And the nameofthis--blackmailer?" the Governor asked. Patch pointed again. "Bartholomew," he said quietly.
The rancher had known what was coming and was ready. He swept off his hat and bowed ironically to the Desert Edge lawyer.
"Embley, I gotta hand it yu, yo're a good romancer, an' yore pupil done it damn well," he said. "But talk is easy an' don't prove nothin'." He turned to the man who had so boldly accused him. "How comes it yu know such a helluva lot about Masters? Mebbe yu killed him yoreself."
The outlaw considered the matter for a moment and then said deliberately, "I s'pose I did, in a manner o' speakin'." A threatening murmur came from where the Lazy M outfit stood, and hearing it he flung up his head and laughed. "Aw right, boys," he cried, and the huskiness had gone from his voice, "don't get het up; I'm goin' to bring yore boss to life agin."
With a quick gesture he whipped off his hat, took the parch from his eye, and said, "Phil".
The girl had been staring at him, unable to recognise the father she had given up hopeofseeing again in the bearded man before her, but at the soundofher name spoken in the familiar voice, doubt could no longer exist, and with a cry of "Daddy", she ran to his arms.
For a few moments the cheering rnob forgot everything save that the missing man, for whose murder another had been nearly done to death, had reappeared so dramatically. Severn, too, came in for part of the congratulations, men fighting to pat his back or shake him by the hand. The cow-puncher endured their enthusiasm with a saturnine smile; he knew that manyofthem would have hanged him with the utmost cheerfulness a short half hour earlier, had the cards fallen differently.
Chapter XXIII
To Black Bart, the reappearance of the missing rancher had been a well-nigh crushing blow, and for a moment flight seemed to be his only hopeofescaping, at the best, a long termofimprisonment. One swift glance told him that in the excitement he was being neglected, and he began to slowly edge his way outofthe crowd. But there was one other who, little interested in Masters, was greatly so in Bartholomew. The latter had only progressed a few yards when :'Oh, don't," came a satirical warning whisper.
The Bar B man turned and saw that the speaker was Snap. The gunman's hands hung loosely over the buttsofhis forty-fives, and the slitted eyes and corded jaw-muscles conveyed the threat that was not in the words. The cattleman stiffened and stood still. Then he squared his shoulders, and his lips pursed in an ugly pout as a new thought came to him; Masters alive might still be used.
The Governor's voice was heard, calling for order. The milling mob fell back, all eyes on the little man who, dropping as it were from the sky, dominated them by the sheer powerofhis personality.
"I think, gentlemen, that Mr. Masters has more to tell us," Bleke said.
With one arm round his daughter, the man who had been missing so long resumed his story. "There ain't much more, but what there is means a lot--to me," he began. "When I left the Lazy M, I went to The Sink, where I had another hoss, clothes an' grub cached ready. I changed, shoved my old duds into a cleft in the rocks--"
"An' a rifle," Severn commented, with a grin at the sheriff, who was looking very unhappy.
'Why, no," Masters said in surprise. "I left the gun on the hoss when I turned him loose, after shootin' a jack-rabbit an' bloodying the saddle; yu see, I wanted to be reckoned dead. Then I drifted into the Pinnacles country an' lay doggo. Soon as I got a fair crop o' whiskers, I joined the White Masks, tellin' 'em I'd lit outa Texas 'bout ten clear jumps ahead of a sheriff's posse; they fell for it." He looked at Severn. "Yu got my warnin's?"
"Yeah, an' I'm thankin' yu," the foreman replied. "I couldn't figure who sent 'em, but they was shore useful."
"A fella has a right to protect his own property, I reckon," Masters grinned. "I soon found out that while Shadwell was the nominal chief o' the bandits, the real head was Bartholomew."
The Bar B owner shrugged his shoulders disdainfully. "An' I took a posse to hunt down my own men, huh?" he gibed.
"An' failed to find 'em," Bent cut in caustically. "I was one o' the fools that follered yu that day."
Like a trapped beast, the discredited rulerofHope glared round and realised that his day was done. With a shake like thatofa dog, he turned savagely to the Governor.
"A tangle o' lies, framed up by that fella Severn an' that damned lawyer who was helpin' him glom on to the Lazy M," he shouted.
Philip Masters laughed loudly. "Severn steal the Lazy M?" he cried. "Why, yu bonehead, he as good as owns it a'readygot a mortgage on every foot o' the land. It was him lent the money I paid to keep yore lyin' mouth shut, though I didn't know it when he come as foreman."
Bartholomew was not yet beaten; he still had a card to play. He turned on Masters.
"Think yu've been damn clever, don't yu?" he sneered. "Mebbe yo're forgettin' I've still got evidence to hang yu."
"Which evidence is a lie, as Embley can prove," the other said fiercely.
The Governor took the paper the lawyer handed to him, read it, and looked gravely at Bartholomew.
"This is the signed and witnessed death-bed statement of a man named Mobey," he said. "In it he confesses that he shot the Desert Edge stage-driver, and that he wrote a document fastening the crime on Masters at your instigation."
Bartholomew tried a laughofincredulity, but before the stern, accusing eyesofthe Governor, the sound died in his throat. Over the spot where he stood, the tree which had borne so many tragic burdens cast an ominous shadow, and he could not keep his gaze from the big branch. His mind dropped into the past. How long ago was it? Severn, who had seen and read the look, answered him.
"Ten years back, Bartholomew," he was saying, and his voice was ice-cold, "yu an' some o' yore outfit hanged an old man to that tree on a charge o' stealin' cattle. He was innocent--yu had altered the brands yoreself an' put the beasts in his pasture; his on'y crime was being a `nester'."
The rancher moistened his dry lips. "Yu say so," he snarled. "Prove it."