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"I gave way to you about Dingwell, though I hated to try that Indian stuff on him. He's a white man. I've always liked him. It's a rotten business." "What else can you do? We daren't turn him loose. You don't want to gun him. There is nothing left but to tighten the thumbscrews." "It won't do any good," protested the big man with a frown. "He's game.
Somehow it must be met at once. Yet what could he do against two armed men who would not hesitate to shoot him down if necessary? There must be some way of saving Dingwell if he could only find it. In spite of his anxiety, a fine spiritual exaltation flooded him. So far he had stood the acid test, had come through without dishonor. He might be a coward; at least, he was not a quitter.
We'll move on up to the bank and deposit our find. Then the drinks will be on me." The little procession moved uptown. A hundred yards behind it came young Rutherford and Charlton as a rear guard. When the contents of the sack had been put in a vault for safe-keeping, Elder invited the party into the Last Chance. Dave and Roy ordered buttermilk. Dingwell gave his partner a nudge.
With the casual confidence that was one of his assets Dave swung from his horse and greeted the ranchman. "'Lo, Hart! Can we roost here to-night? My friend got thrown and hurt his shoulder. He's all in." The suspicious eyes of the nester passed over Beaudry and came back to Dingwell. "I reckon so," he said, not very graciously.
He still had both of them, together with a nice little bunch of cows that beat the world's records for fecundity. It was not exactly the place Dingwell would have chosen to go into hiding, but he had to take what he could get. Roy, completely exhausted, was already showing a fever. He could not possibly travel farther.
Why should I give it? I don't know you." "It's not for mysilf that I want it. There's a friend of your father in trouble. When I saw the sign with your name on it I came in to tell you." "What sort of trouble?" "That's a long story. Did you iver hear of Dave Dingwell?" "Yes. I've never met him, but he put me through law school." "How come that?" "I was living in Denver with my aunt.
He could see no way out of the difficulty. He knew that neither Meldrum nor Tighe would consent to let Dingwell go unless an agreement was first reached. There was, too, the other tangle involving young Beaudry. Perhaps he also would be obstinate and refuse to follow the reasonable course. Beulah met him on the road.
The cheerful grin of Dave included impartially Fox, Meldrum, and the player beneath the elk's head. The ex-convict spoke first. "Come back to sit in our game, Dave?" he jeered. Dingwell understood that this was a challenge.
Nobody would pick Sweeney for a partner. He's a fathead and Dave worked against him before election. But Sweeney is sheriff of Washington County. Get that?" "I suppose you mean that Dingwell had something on the Rutherfords and was going to turn them over to the law." "You're getting warm, boy. Does the hold-up of the Pacific Flyer help you any?" Roy drew a long breath of surprise.
The cowman returned to a world of darkness out of which voices came as from a distance hazily. A groan prefaced his arrival. "Dave's waking up," one of the far voices said. "Sure. When you tap his haid with a six-gun, you're liable to need repairs on the gun," a second answered. The next words came to Dingwell more distinctly. He recognized the speaker as Hal Rutherford of the horse ranch.
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