Sudden pointed to Cullin, who, slumped in his seat, chin on chest, seemed oblivious to what was happening. Indeed, the revelation that the woman he coveted was married to the man he hated, following by the latter's triumph, had mentally stunned him. Put that man in the dock.'
Towler gasped, doubting his own ears. 'Cullin's the most powerful man in these parts,' he expostulated.
`Not just now,' Sudden reminded.
The old man shivered, called the sheriff, and gave the order. Camort convinced that his chief had gone mad, stammered, `Ain't feelin' sick, are you?'
The Judge was--very sick. `Do as I tell you,' he snapped.
Like one awaking from an evil dream, Cullin sprang to his feet. `What the hell's the meanin' o' this, Towler? Are you crazy?' he cried.
`Charges have been made against you, Mister Cullin, and must be investigated--in your own interest.' The mild answer brought reason. Cullin felt no apprehension; he had covered his trail too cleverly, but it would be foolish to antagonise those present. So he dropped his bluster, and laughed.
`Never thought of it thataway, but yo're right.' He stepped jauntily into the dock, and as he passed, the sheriff deftly lifted the gun from his holster. At any other time he would have been struck down, but the rancher merely shrugged; he had a part to play.
He did it well. As he faced the whispering, excited crowd, few suspected the furnace of fury raging in his breast. One thing puzzled him--what had the cowboy to do with it? `Well, Towler, trot out yore charges,' he challenged.
It was the cowboy who answered. `What amount did yu promise Seale if he succeeded in not findin' the heir, an' got permission to sell the ranch?'
`I made no promise an' knew nothin' of his plans. I was willin' to buy the range if it came on the market.'
Sudden produced the letter found in the lawyer's office, and the Judge read it aloud.
`I never wrote that,' Cullin denied. `It's a forgery.'
`A small matter, anyway,' Sudden remarked carelessly. `But that don't go for yore plot to get Drait plugged in Little Basin.' `With which I had no connection.'
`On'y to put up the money, two hundred apiece; Tomini talked, Cullin,' the puncher said sternly. `Well, they bungled it, so yu had to try again. This time yu raised the ante, an' offered a thousand to Lukor, a notorious professional killer.'
`Whose name I never heard till after the shootin',' the rancher sneered.
`Two witnesses can testify yu called on him at the Rideout hotel the day afore he came to Midway.'
`Liars are easy found.'
`Yu oughta know. Lukor fell down on the job, an' stayed down,' Sudden went on grimly. `He picked the wrong man; yore description must 'a' been lackin' some. For yore own safety, yu decided to let Drait live a little longer, an' turned yore attention to grabbin' the S P. As usual, yu hired others to do the dirty work. They were to steal an' hide cattle so that yu could collect 'em when the owner had been scared into sellin' yu the ranch. Yore rustlers were careless, the cows traced an' fetched back to Shadow Valley.'
`You oughta be writin' dime novels,' Cullin said, but his eyes were uneasy.
`That gave you yore chance; it shore looked like an open an' shut case o' rustlin',' Sudden continued. `The sheriff was instructed to arrest Drait, an' yu had the S P owner kidnapped so that she could not interfere.'
`That's an infernal lie,' Cullin cried, with a fine air of indignation.
The puncher's reply was to hand the Judge the letter he had found on the sheriff's desk. The reading caused a sensation.
Cullin dismissed it in two words : `Another forgery.'
`No,' the Judge said firmly. `Comparing these with others in my possession, I find the writing identical.'
`On the strength of two letters I never wrote, and a lot o' guess-work, I've been accused of attempts to break the law, but Drait is still alive, the lady is back in our midst, an' I still do not own the S P. My career of crime seems to be a failure.'
`Not quite,' Sudden corrected. `Once yu succeeded, an' that once will hang yu, Cullin. I mean the murder of Eddie Olsen.'
The blow went home. Confidence left him, fear taking its place.
`Easy to accuse,' he said. `Where's yore proof?'
`With his last breath, Gilman named yu.'
`He allus hated me. A dead man's word; is that all?' Cullin jeered.
Sudden beckoned towards the door, and two men sitting by it rose and walked to the platform. Exclamations of wonder followed their recognition. `Bull an' Frayle. What's comin' now?' men asked.
`Bardoe, yu saw Olsen die. What happened?'
`Nine of us went to throw a scare into Drait. Olsen said he warn't to home. Cullin called him a liar, clutched his throat, an' swore to choke the truth out'n him; he choked the life out instead. Me an' Frayle protested, but he was past listenin', just murder-mad. When it was done, he told two o' his men to hang the body from a limb, and said it would show Drait we meant business.'
Sudden looked at Frayle. 'Anythin' to add?'
`No, that's just how it was.'
The pitiful story brought a low, threatening growl, mixed with forcible expressions of disgust. Cullin shot a furtive glance at the spectators; contempt, cold condemnation, ironical curiosity, satisfaction, all these things he read in the hard faces, but no pity. He made a last effort :
`What are they payin' you for these lies, Bardoe?' he asked.
`A lot less'n you offered me for robbin' the S P an' carryin' off its mistress,' was the reply. The rustler's fierce eyes swept the gathering. `Every word I've said is God's own truth, an' if I have to follow you into the dock, I won't squeal--if they clean it out first. I ain't proud o' my record but it don't include guzzlin' an unarmed cripple.'
Cries of `Good for you, Bull,' followed the rustler's denunciation, and the prisoner's last shred of hope vanished. In the moment of deadly peril, he was without a friend. Even the quaking tool he had used and abused was solely concerned with his own danger. In every grim face he read the fate awaiting him. The twisted, tortured features of Eddie dangled before his eyes, mocking him. An icy hand seemed to clutch his heart as he looked at Drait and the girl who had cheated him. Frenziedly he strove to think, and then, in a flash, hope was reborn, mad, fantastic, but possible. Towler was turning to the jury; he must act now.
`Judge, I would like a private word with Drait an' his wife,' he said, all arrogance gone from his voice. `It's vital--to them.'
The Judge nodded, and head oowed in an attitude of dejection, Cullin watched the approach of the woman he hungered for and the man he hated. Not until they were quite close did he look up.
`Well, Cullin, what is it?' Nick asked.
`This,' the rancher hissed. His right hand flashed to his shoulder, the gun cracked, and even as Drait was falling, the assassin's left hand swung the girl round, and the still-smoking muzzle of his weapon was pressed against her head.
`Freeze, all o' you,' he shouted. `A hurt to me, kills her.'
It was true; the hammer of his gun was held back only by a thumb, and her life depended on it remaining so. Many present could have shot him down, but it meant two lives. So they sat in their seats, petrified, helpless, while he strode from the dock, thrusting his captive before him.
Dazed by the swiftness of the tragedy, and kept conscious only by the biting grip of steel talons which seemed to penetrate to the bone, the girl moved forward. Cullin did not hurry--he knew he was safe, and a fiendish snarl of triumph distorted his lips. Savage, impotent men watched his progress to the door, which he forced the girl to open, and heard the gibing `Adios' as it slammed behind him, and the key turn.
For a moment they stared at one another, and then Sudden acted. Picking up a heavy chair, he hurled it at the nearest window; glass and framework vanished together. He leapt through, dashed to his horse, and flung himself into the saddle. Which way?