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Updated: May 11, 2025
It was hard for him to stand quietly there and hear these men speak so lightly of one whose image was enshrined in his heart, and who was becoming dearer to him every day. Her pure face and large, wondering eyes rose before him, and when Pritchen uttered his coarse sneer he turned suddenly upon him. "What do you mean by those words?" he demanded. "Anything you like," returned Pritchen.
Pritchen was in a trap, he fully realized that, and a wild rage mingled with his fear. He reached for his revolver, but it was not there. Anyway it would have been of little use, for instantly a score of revolvers leaped from as many hip pockets, and covered him in the twinkling of an eye. "Come out here!" roared Pete, "an' stand up like a man. Thar's no use kickin'."
But on this night no such feelings possessed his soul. A heavy weight oppressed him in some mysterious manner. He tried to shake it off, but in vain. The gliding figures before him assumed the appearance of evil spirits luring him on to a doom over which he had no control. Why had Pritchen chosen him as one of the committee unless he had some hidden motive in view?
I'll do the best I can, and I want no back jaw when it's done." "All right, Bill, never fear. Go ahead." Pritchen looked slowly round the room as if weighing each man carefully in his mind. "Mickie O'Toole," he said, "will you stand by and help with this job?" "Sure," came the reply. "To the very last." "And find the rope too, Mickie?" laughed one.
Keith had been thinking very seriously during all this time, and when Pritchen ended he lifted up his voice. "Gentlemen, you have placed upon us a hard and important task, and as one of the Committee I wish to ask a few questions." The men giving him respectful attention, he proceeded: "Suppose one of us on the Committee should be the guilty person, what are we to do?"
"Man," came the response, as a yearning arm reached out toward the natives, "they are mine. Through long years of travail I have borne with them, and I love them. I am Keith Steadman, the missionary." At these words Pritchen started. A look of fear came into his eyes, and he glanced round as if seeking some avenue of escape. Then his appearance changed. His face darkened like a stormy sky.
"A chest in the cabin, a strong one at that locked, and the owner unable to find the key! What do you keep in such a precious box?" Keith heard him, but heeded not. He was trying to think. Yes, he had placed the picture there before he left the building, and closed the lid down without turning the key. He was sure of that. He was aroused from his reverie by Pritchen asking for an axe.
"Certainly, who else would it be?" replied Perdue. Silence followed these words, and the men looked at one another. Pritchen, noticing this, was vexed and puzzled. "Well, what do you think of it?" he blurted out. "I don't think much about it, if you ask me," responded Missouri. "You can't prove that the parson had anything to do with that chap's death." "But the book."
Mebbe ye kin tell when ye hear, fer it's Bill Pritchen." When Pete entered the saloon, Pritchen was sitting at a small table dealing a pack of cards. Looking suddenly up, and noticing the prospector, his face became pale, and his hand shook. He made up his mind to leave the room at the first opportunity and not run the risk of meeting the old man.
"Waal, ye see, thar was two letters on the poke, which seemed to pint to somethin' bad. Pritchen was out huntin' mountain sheep a short time ago, so he says, in the Ibex Valley. While thar he stayed in an old log shanty, an' the place was all upsot lookin', so he says, as if a terrible fight had taken place. Then he finds a book layin' on the floor with the parson's name inside."
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