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He telephoned a hurry call to a restaurant, Brooks, the jailer, being plainly incapable of furnishing breakfast. Then he turned to Pete. "What is this, Johnson? A plant?" Pete's nose quivered. "Sure! It was a plant from the first. The Pooles were hired to set upon me. This one was sent, masked, to tell me to break out.
Hugh, even in the midst of his bitter and suspicious rage, felt the justice of the reproach. He paused, looked about, then came close, put a hand on each of his brother's shoulders, searching the white, young face with his wild eyes. "I must have Sylvie," he groaned. "Pete, I must. You don't know; you can't know " He dropped his grizzled head against Pete's neck, and his breath caught.
Hanson had decided that the best way to gain certain information he desired was to seek the bar-keeper, who, after his constitution, gossiped as naturally and as volubly as a bird sings; so, quite early the next morning, he sauntered into Chickasaw Pete's place.
The big red hand clutched fast on Carmena's throat and held her off at arm's length. Contemptuously heedless of her frenzied struggles, he fixed a hard stare on Pete. "You," he ordered, "git a hustle on. Rope this hellcat, pronto." Though Pete's hesitancy was almost imperceptible, Slade's revolver swung up toward him. The young Navaho sprang forward, jabbering to his fellow tribesman.
It's come to a pretty pass, so it has, if you are goin' to uphold that bad boy in thieving " "Hush up, Maw!" cried Pete's voice from the house. "Come out here, you scalawag!" ordered his father, relaxing his hold on Hiram. Pete slouched out on the porch, wearing a grin that was half sheepish, half worried. "What's this Strong says about turkeys?" demanded Sam Dickerson, sternly.
Jim laughed mockingly, and pushed his face forward, inviting the other to lead, and when Pete lunged at it he ducked, and got right and left on to his enemy's ribs, slipping, away under Pete's arm when he endeavoured to return the blows.
While Pocus Pete had been on guard a cattleman, passing, had given him an important message for Mr. Carson. "So you'd better ride back and tell him, Dave," Pete said, as he and the other punchers began to work on the fence, a snack having been brought for Pete's supper. "But I want to stay and help you," objected Dave.
And the sheriff knew something of Brevoort's record. Incidentally Sheriff Owen also looked up Pete's record. He determined to get Pete's story and compare it with what the newspapers said and see how close this combined evidence came to his own theory of the killing of Brent.
Again the Mexican shook his head. "He sure don't," said Pete, turning to Brevoort "or he'd 'a' jest nacherally plugged me. If a Chola don't know what whiskey or dam' fool means, he don't know American." Meanwhile the two guards had turned to the natural expedient of gambling for Pete's belt and gun. The elaborately carved holster had taken their fancy.
Conniston sprang back, and as he leaped he swept up the revolver from the barrel-top. As the knife fell, cutting a long gash again in his shoulder, he jammed the muzzle of Lonesome Pete's gun against the Chinaman's stomach and fired. The Chinaman grunted, coughed, and sank limply, vomiting blood.
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