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"Don't reckon as I touched Broken Feather when I fired that first shot along there," he remarked to Nick Undrell, who was posted near him. "That ain't Broken Feather hisself as you's looking at," said Nick, squinting along the barrel of his Winchester, "though I allows he's wearin' the chief's dinky head-dress. No, sir, that's Murm'rin' Water, the boss medicine man.
"My personal interest in him would be no excuse for your allowin' a guilty man to go free and unpunished," he observed judicially. "If you believe that Nick Undrell committed this burglary, then by all means issue your warrant and have him arrested. There are circumstances in the case, however, which do not seem to me to support your suspicions. Let us examine them.
You expected him to ride through One Tree Gulch exactly at that time?" "No, your lordship," returned Nick; "I knew nothin' for sure. It was no more'n a cute guess on my part, knowin' the man." Kiddie turned and looked at Undrell very steadily. "I'm very much afraid that you know more about this business than you're likely to admit," he said. "You were in it yourself to some extent.
Nick Undrell was still there. He was rigidly looking along the sights of his rifle, hesitating to fire. "You're aimin' at a dead pony, Nick," Kiddie pointed out. "I ain't doin' nothin' so fullish," returned Nick. "It's the skunk lyin' doggo behind it that I'm interested in. Broken Feather's thar, sure; and he ain't dead; he ain't even wounded.
It was while I was present that he first come ter know that his thief-proof safe had been opened and that his pile of greenbacks had been stolen. The safe had been opened with the key hidden back of the tobacco jar on his writin' desk." Isa Blagg broke off, looking to Kiddie for comment. "Well?" said Kiddie. "Go on. What's your theory? You mentioned the name of Nick Undrell a while back.
What engaged his especial attention was one of the sharp points of splintered glass. He jumped down, and went back to where Kiddie and the sheriff waited. "Either of you happen ter recollect what kind of a vest or shirt Nick Undrell wears?" he inquired. "Red, ain't it?" Kiddie shook his head. "Never saw Nick with red shirt-sleeves," he responded. "Nor I," added the sheriff.
Then you admit that you had plans of your own?" Nick Undrell was filling his pipe, ramming the tobacco in with nervous vigour. "Don't make too sure, Lord Saint Olave," he retorted calmly. "Speakin' fer myself, I were ready to guard your property with me life, for the sake of who you are the son of Buckskin Jack.
I wonder at him leavin' his bootprints scattered about like this. Why didn't he mount from the grass?" "He was certainly careless," agreed Kiddie. "Looks as if he'd been in a precious hurry to get away with the boodle. You're sure, I suppose, that it was Nick Undrell who wore boots like those that made these marks?" "What makes me certain," said Rube, "is the missin' nail.
An' the boodle the loot the swag that the greasy skunk stole from your cabin last night, it's all fixed up right an' tight in Laramie Bank." "Good very good," said Kiddie. "He's captured; and you're sure he can't escape eh?" Nick Undrell laughed. "Don't you alarm yourself any," he answered, dismounting from the bay horse. "He ain't goin' t' escape, that's sure."
"To begin with, then," said Rube, "Nick Undrell knew about your valuables knew that you kept 'em here in your cabin; and he coveted them. He'd made up his mind weeks ago to get hold of 'em. He admitted as much to you yourself, an' he put you off suspectin' him by makin' out that he'd started on a new trail by givin' up drink an' gamblin' and thievin'. That's where he was artful.
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