When the Earl of Stranleigh entered the house, he was accosted by Miss Armstrong, on whose fair face were traces of deep anxiety, which his lordship thought were easily accounted for by the fact that the homestead was to be sold in less than a fortnight.
“I have been anxious to see you, Mr. Stranleigh,” she said. “Won’t you come out on the verandah where we can talk?”
“With great pleasure, Miss Armstrong.”
When they were seated, she continued —
“You have been talking with the men?”
“Yes; we had a little chat together.”
“Did they tell you anything of their intentions?”
“No; except in so far as they were determined not to let me examine the mine.”
“Ah; they have distrusted you from the first. Did you insist on visiting it?”
“I have visited it.”
“Without asking one of them to accompany you?”
“I regarded them as hired men. They say they are your father’s partners.”
“So they are.”
“Ah, well, if that is really the case, I must apologise to them. I thought when you ordered Dean to bring in my luggage, and he obeyed with such docility, that he was your servant. I intended to offer him some money for that service, but I suppose I must not.”
“Certainly not. Those men will do anything for a friend, but nothing for one of whom they are suspicious. Their distrust, once aroused, is not easily removed. I am sure, however, you were tactful with them.”
Stranleigh smiled ruefully.
“I am not so certain of that myself. I fear I failed in diplomacy.”
“I do wish my father were here,” she said, ignoring his last remark. “I am very much worried about the men.”
“What do they know of your trouble with that man Ricketts?”
“They know all about it, and they now threaten to march into Bleachers in a body and, as we say, shoot up the town, including Ricketts, of course.”
“When do they intend to do this?”
“On the day of the auction sale.”
“Don’t they understand that that would be futile?”
“It would cause an infinite amount of harm, and ultimately might result in their being wiped out themselves. Not that Bleachers could do such a thing, but because they would be pitting themselves against the United States Government, which is a mere name to those men, carrying no authority. All their lives have been spent in camps, where the only law is that of the mob. I have tried my best to influence them, but they regard me merely as a woman, and a woman from the East at that, who has no knowledge of practical affairs, so I have every reason for wishing my father were here.”
“I should not trouble about that if I were you, Miss Armstrong. If they intended to carry out their resolution to-morrow, or next day, there might be reason for anxiety, but we have luckily plenty of time in which to act. The one immediate thing is to find your father. I’ll undertake that task. He’s travelling somewhere between here and Chicago, on foot. May I see the latest letter he wrote you?”
The girl brought it to him.
“Might I take this with me?”
“Yes. What do you intend to do?”
Stranleigh smiled.
“Oh, I never do anything. As I was telling your men, who wished me to mind my own business, I always have people to do that for me. I am a great believer in the expert. Now, America seems to be the land of experts, and the man to deal with this case is Detective Burns, of New York. I shall get into touch with him by telegraph, and if he cannot attend to the matter himself, he will select the best substitute that is to be had, and as Burns and his men invariably track down anyone they want, even though he be seeking to elude them, it will be an easy task to find your father, who is tramping the straightest possible line between Chicago and this ranch. I shall give instructions for two or three hundred dollars to be handed to Mr. Armstrong, with directions to take the next train to Bleachers, as we need his presence here. I shall do nothing but send a telegram, and Mr. Burns will do the rest. Now, if you will assist me by ordering out my horse, I shall be ready to start within ten minutes. I’d order the horse myself, but I don’t think your men would obey me.”
In less than the time mentioned, Jim brought the horse to the door. All his men were standing in front of their cabin, looking on. They quite naturally believed that their guest had taken alarm, and was making off to some district where he would be in less danger. When his lordship came downstairs and out to the front, Jim was overcome with astonishment. His lordship was accoutred amazingly, after the fashion of the English horseman. He had dressed himself in a riding costume such as an English gentleman would wear at home. Jim and his comrades had never seen such an outfit before, and they greeted his appearance with a roar of laughter.
Stranleigh sprang into his saddle with the agility of a cowboy, and smiling good-humouredly at his audience, raised his hat to them, and rode off.
As Stranleigh’s horse entered the forest the young man began to ponder over the problem that confronted him. When the unfortunate Armstrong borrowed money from Ricketts, he had, of course, fully explained the situation. The lender had examined the property in company with a mining engineer, and this expert doubtless took away with him some ore to analyse at his leisure. Ricketts, being in possession of the engineer’s estimate of the pit’s value, had probably formed a syndicate, or perhaps made arrangements with other capitalists, to see him through with the speculation. Undoubtedly Ricketts expected no competition when the estate was put up at auction, but if he was a shrewd man, as was almost certain to be the case, events had occurred which might stimulate thought regarding his position.
Miss Armstrong had ridden out to Bleachers, having in her possession five thousand dollars, the face value of the notes. Ricketts would wonder how she had obtained the money. She possessed only two thousand dollars on her first visit, as he knew from the fact that she had offered it to him for refraining from action until her father returned. Who could have given her the extra three thousand? Whoever had done so must have known the girl could offer no security for its repayment. He was therefore a rich man, or he could not afford to throw away a sum so considerable.
It was likely that such reflections as these had put Ricketts on the alert, and the sudden advent in Bleachers of a smartly costumed stranger, a stranger coming from the direction of the ranch, would almost certainly convince Ricketts that here was his opponent. In Bleachers, too, each inhabitant very probably knew every one else’s business. That he could elude the astute Ricketts was therefore exceedingly doubtful, and Stranleigh already knew enough about the lawlessness of the district to believe that he might ride into considerable danger. In that sparsely-settled country, people were not too scrupulous in their methods of getting rid of an enemy.
He wondered how far down the line the next town was, for he was certain that any telegraphing he did from Bleachers would speedily be known to Ricketts. Would it be possible to deflect his course, and make for the next station eastwards? He possessed no map of the State, however, and there was little chance of meeting anyone, so there seemed nothing for it but to push on to Bleachers.
At this point his meditations were interrupted by the dimly heard sound of horses’ hoofs on the trail behind him. He pulled up and listened. Pausing for a few minutes, he heard nothing more, and so went on again, with an uneasy feeling of being followed. He determined not to camp out when night overtook him, but to hurry on until he reached Bleachers. He had made a two days’ journey to reach the ranch, but that was because the laden mules were slow. Before dark he would be on the high road, and after that he could not lose his way. After all, perhaps it was better to reach Bleachers at night, and trust to rousing up the people in the one tavern of the place.
It was after midnight when his task was accomplished, and having seen to the accommodation of a very tired and hungry horse, Stranleigh threw himself down, dressed as he was, upon the bed to which he was shown by a sleepy ostler. He had had quite enough equestrian exercise for one day.
Ten o’clock had struck next morning before he woke, and went down to breakfast. His mind had become clarified, and he knew now exactly what he meant to do. To avoid the cognizance of Ricketts was impossible; of that he was certain. His first object, then, was to draw a red herring across the trail, so he enquired from the hotel-keeper the whereabouts of Ricketts’ office, and was directed to it.
He crossed the street and ascended a stair. Ricketts kept neither clerk nor office boy, so Stranleigh knocked at the door, was gruffly commanded to enter, and obeyed.
Silas A. Ricketts was seated at a large table strewn with books and legal-looking documents, and he stared in astonishment at the figure which presented itself. He, like the men on the ranch, had never seen such a costume before.
“Are you Mr. Ricketts?” asked his lordship.
“Yes, sir.”
“My name is Stranleigh. I took the liberty of calling upon you to learn, if possible, the whereabouts of Mr. Stanley Armstrong.”
“Why should I know anything of his whereabouts?” demanded Ricketts.
“Permit me to explain – ”
“Now, before we go any further,” interrupted the lawyer, “I want you to know that this is a business office, and I’m a business man. My time is valuable. I thought when you came in that you were a client. If you have come here for aimless gossip, I’m not your man. I have my own affairs to look after.”
“You state the case very lucidly, Mr. Ricketts, and I congratulate your clients. My own time is far from precious, for I’m here after sport. How valuable is your time? How much does an hour’s conference with you cost?”
“It all depends on the business transacted.”
“I can’t agree with you, Mr. Ricketts. An hour is an hour. I want to buy sixty minutes of your time and attention. What do you ask for it?”
“Five dollars!” snapped Ricketts.
Stranleigh drew forth a five-dollar bill, and placed it on the table.
“May I sit down?” he enquired. “No healthy man should be tired in the morning, but I endured a long horseback ride yesterday, and had an indifferent night’s rest.”
“Where did you come from?”
“I have been living for the past few days at Armstrong’s ranch.”
“Are you the man who was shot last week?”
“Yes; by mistake for your estimable sheriff I understand. You see, I came here from New York with a letter of introduction to Mr. Armstrong, being told that I might enjoy some good fishing and a little shooting, while Armstrong was described as a most admirable guide to these sports. I waited at the ranch day after day, hoping that Armstrong would return, but nobody seems to know yet where he is, or when he will return, so I came out here, hoping to get into telegraphic communication with him. I’m well enough now to take part in the chase, and I am loth to return to New York without having had any sport.”
“I still don’t understand why you come to me about the matter.”
“I was told by his daughter that Armstrong had written to you. She does not know in the least where he is, and so on the chance of your having received a recent letter, I have called to enquire.”
“I see. Armstrong’s letter to me was written from Chicago. It was a request for money. I had already loaned him a considerable sum and was unable to accede to his further demand. I answered to this effect, but have heard no more from him. It is likely that his own people have received word since the letter to me was written. Of course, you don’t know the date of their last letter from him?”
“Yes, I do,” said Stranleigh, “I have the letter with me. It contains all the data of which Miss Armstrong is possessed, and she gave me the letter to assist me in my search.”
He drew the letter from his pocket, and showed the date to the lawyer, who consulted his file, and then said —
“It is just as I expected. That letter was written ten days later than the one I received. Sorry I am unable to give you any definite assistance, Mr. Stranleigh.”
Stranleigh rose.
“I am sorry also. I suppose there wouldn’t be much use in telegraphing to the address he gives in Chicago?”
“I see no object in that. The place is probably a boarding-house, and he’s not there.”
“Thank you, Mr. Ricketts. Good morning.”
Stranleigh went slowly down the steep stairs, and reaching the sidewalk, almost fell into the arms of Jim Dean. Here, then, was the man who had been following him.
“Good morning, Mr. Dean.”
“Morning,” snarled Jim, briefly.
“I’ve just been up to see Mr. Ricketts, whom I think you mentioned the other day.”
“So I supposed,” agreed Dean.
“I expected to get some information from him about Mr. Armstrong, but he doesn’t appear to know very much.”
“Well, you’re the first man I ever heard say that S. A. Ricketts doesn’t know very much, but I think by and by you will find that others know a great deal.”
“Perhaps they know a great deal that is not so; there’s a lot of knowledge of that kind lying around loose.”
“Very likely,” remarked Jim, laconically, then turned on his heel and walked down the street, while Stranleigh went towards the depôt to enlist the services of a telegraph operator, and learn when the next train left for the east.
Stranleigh found the telegraph operator dozing in a wooden chair tilted back against the wall, his soft hat drawn over his eyes, his feet resting on a rung of the chair. It was a hot day, and the commercial inactivity of Bleachers called for very little exertion on the part of the telegraphist. The young man slowly roused himself as the door opened and shut. His unexpected customer nodded good morning to him.
“Could you oblige me with some forms?” asked the newcomer.
“Forms? Forms of what?” The operator’s feet came down with a crash on the board floor as he rose from his chair.
“Well, telegraph blanks, perhaps I should have said.”
“Oh, certainly.”
The young man fished one out from a drawer, and flung it on the counter.
“This will do excellently for a beginning,” said Stranleigh, “but you’d better let me have a dozen to go on with.”
The young man was waking up. He supplied the demand, and with ever-increasing amazement, watched his client write.
Stranleigh gave the New York detective particulars in great detail so far as he possessed them, asked him to spare no expense, and requested that Armstrong, when found, should be presented with two hundred dollars or more, as he required, with admonition to take the first train home, where his presence was urgently needed.
“Great Scott!” cried the operator, “is that all one message?”
“Yes,” said Stranleigh.
“Where is it going?”
“I’ve written the address as plainly as I can. It’s going to New York.”
“I say, stranger,” protested the telegraphist, “have you any idea what it costs to send a message across the Continent to New York?”
“No, I haven’t, but I expect to be in possession of that information as soon as you have mastered my handwriting, and counted the words.”
The operator was practically speechless when he reached the end of his enumeration, but after making a note on the pad, he was sufficiently recovered to remark —
“Say, stranger, you’ll have to dig up a pretty big wad to pay for this. We don’t give credit in a Western Union office.”
“I shouldn’t think of asking credit from a downtrodden monopoly,” said Stranleigh, pulling out his pocket book, and liquidating his debt. “You ought to be happy if you get a percentage.”
“Worse luck, I don’t.”
“Well, I think you’re entitled to one. I’ve given a fee this morning and received no particular equivalent for it. Do you, being a useful man, object to accepting a five-dollar bill?”
“Not on your life!” assented the operator with great earnestness.
Stranleigh passed it over.
“I’m expecting a reply. At what time shall I call for it?”
“You don’t need to call, Mr. Stranleigh. When it comes, I’ll lock up the office, and find you if you’re anywhere in town.”
“I’m stopping over at the tavern.”
“All right; you’ll get it.”
“Thanks. Good morning.”
“See you later,” said the now thoroughly-awakened operator, and Stranleigh proceeded to the railway station. He took the next train to the nearest town east, and there did some more telegraphing, but this time the message was in cypher, and it was addressed to his agent in New York. Translated, it read —
“Send me at once by express, registered and insured, twenty thousand dollars in currency, made up of five dollar, ten dollar, and hundred dollar bills.”
The address was fully written out in plain English. He found there was time for a satisfactory lunch before the west-bound train arrived, and he partook of it in the chief hotel, whose accommodation was much superior to that of the Bleachers tavern.
On his return to headquarters, he called in at the telegraph office. The young man in charge, at once recognising him, announced —
“Nothing doing. The moment anything comes I’ll take it over to the tavern. Say, is there anything secret about that telegram you sent?”
“No; why do you ask?”
“Well, Mr. Ricketts, a lawyer here, came in about ten minutes ago, and described you, and wanted to know if you had sent a telegram.”
“What did you say to him?”
“I said nobody had sent a telegram, and that I knew nothing of you. He seemed powerful anxious, and offered me a dollar to let him know if you telegraphed anything. I went over to the tavern to tell you about it, but they said you hadn’t been in since breakfast.”
“I suppose you haven’t many chances of picking up an extra dollar in Bleachers?”
“No; I haven’t. Ricketts is always mighty curious about anyone who arrives here, but I never knew him offer a cent for information before.”
“I’m very much obliged to you. You go right over to Ricketts’ office and pick up his dollar, but don’t say I gave you the advice. By the way, wouldn’t you be breaking the rules of the Western Telegraph Company if you divulged the purport of any message that passed through your hands?”
A look of trouble, almost of fear, came over the young man’s face.
“If a telegram is secret,” he said, “the sender usually writes it in cypher.”
“Quite so, but even in that case wouldn’t you be punished if it became known that you had shown Mr. Ricketts a private despatch entrusted to your care?”
“Certainly,” admitted the telegraphist, exhibiting more and more uneasiness, “but I have not shown your telegram to anybody, and what I told you was entirely in confidence.”
“Oh, you need have no fear of my rounding on you. I am merely endeavouring to put you in possession of that dollar without getting your neck in a noose. Don’t you see that you are placing yourself entirely at Mr. Ricketts’ mercy?”
“But you,” protested the frightened young man, “advised me to do so.”
“Undoubtedly. I want you to get that dollar, but not to place yourself in jeopardy. From what I saw of Ricketts this morning, I should not like to be in his power, yet his dollar is just as good as any other man’s dollar, and I want you to detach it from him with safety, and profit to yourself. Let me have another telegraph blank.”
Stranleigh wrote rapidly —
“Pinkerton Detective Agency, Chicago.
“I want to be put into communication with Stanley Armstrong, who left Chicago on foot ten days ago, for the West, and I am willing to pay one hundred dollars for the job.
“Edmund Stranleigh.
“White’s Hotel, Bleachers.”
“There,” said Stranleigh, passing over the sheet to the operator, “you show that to our inquisitive friend Ricketts, but don’t send it over the line.”
Stranleigh slept that night at White’s Hotel, and shortly after breakfast next morning the telegraph clerk came across with a very satisfactory telegram from New York. The sender could not positively predict the finding of Armstrong, but anticipated no difficulty in the task.
Stranleigh paid his bill at the hotel, ordered out his horse, and trotted off towards the ranch. He saw no more of Ricketts, who, if on any trail, was following the wrong one.
Dusk had fallen as he was about to emerge into the clearing which in daylight would have afforded him a sight of Armstrong’s house. Suddenly and stealthily he was surrounded by six armed men, and the voice of Jim Dean broke the stillness.
“Good evening, Mr. Stranleigh. I must ask you to get down from your horse.”
“Willingly,” replied the rider. “I confess I have had enough equestrian exercise for one day.”
“We have supper ready for you at the bunk house.”
“Why at the bunk house? I am perfectly satisfied with the fare that Mr. Armstrong’s family provides.”
“We’d like a little conversation with you, and the conversation must take place in private.”
“In that case, Mr. Dean, you could hardly find a better spot than this.”
“We’re a kindly set of chaps, and couldn’t think of keeping a hungry man out here.”
“But I’m not very hungry. I took a pocketful of sandwiches with me from the tavern.”
“Nevertheless, you are coming with us, either peaceably, or by force, whichever you choose.”
“Oh, quite willingly, of course. I should be ungrateful if I gave you any unnecessary trouble, while accepting your hospitality. I may add that I am unarmed, so if you keep your guns in readiness you need fear no reprisal on my part.”
“That’s all right,” responded Jim. “We’re not easily scared, but are prepared to protect ourselves should you try any funny business.”
“Is Peter going to take my horse to the farm?”
“Sure; your horse will be put in its old quarters, and will be well taken care of.”
“Then I should be glad if Peter would oblige me by telling Miss Armstrong that I have arrived safely, and will give her an account of my journey when next I have the pleasure of meeting her.”
“I’m afraid Peter can’t carry any messages; indeed, it’s not at all necessary. I’ve told Miss Armstrong that your horse will be brought back, and that I saw you off on the east-bound train, which is quite true. You’ve brought back the horse, and you did go east on the train. Miss Armstrong thinks you have become tired of waiting for her father, and that you’ve gone either to Chicago or New York.”
“Am I to regard myself as your prisoner, then?”
“Prisoner is an ugly word, and we are not entitled to call ourselves gaolers, but if you wouldn’t mind looking on it in that way, it’s all the same to us.”
“Well, truthful Jim, I’m your man in every sense of the word. Let us begin our amicable journey. I yearn for the bunk house.”
“You will keep silent? No shouting or calling for help? There’s no help to be had anyhow, and a noise would merely alarm the women.”
“I recognise the necessity for silence, and I shall make no outcry. Indeed, my whole future conduct while with you will be governed by the strictest secrecy. When I get tired of the bunk house I shall merely cut all your throats while you are asleep, and will do it in the quietest and gentlest manner.”
Jim laughed.
“I guess we can take care of our throats, but I’m much obliged for the suggestion, which may come in handy if you get funny, as I said before.”
They reached the bunk house by a circuitous route. A fine fire of logs was blazing on the ample hearth, for even in summer a fire was good to look at when night came on, at that elevation.
When Stranleigh sat down to supper, he regretted more than ever the civilised fare of the farm house. The menu was rough, but plentiful, and they all sat together at the long table. A meal was a serious event, and they partook of it in silence. It was evident that the men were going to adopt full precautions, for while they supped one of them sat by the door, a rifle over his knees. He came in for the second course, and another took his place. After the table was cleared, they all sat round the big fire, and smoked.
Remembering that the best tobacco in the world came from the south-east of their country, the aroma of the weed they had chosen was not as grateful to Stranleigh’s nostrils as might have been expected, so partly for good fellowship, and partly for his own protection, he presented each with a fine Havana cigar, such as would be welcomed in a London club, where pipes are not permitted. The men amiably accepted this contribution, but each put the cigar in his pocket against a future occasion, and went on with his pipe. Cheap as was the tobacco they were using, it was naturally scarce among men who had received no money for some months.
“I don’t wish to appear unduly inquisitive,” began their guest, “but now that we have all night before us, would you mind telling me why I am thus taken charge of by strangers on whom I have no claim?”
“There are several reasons,” replied Jim, who was always the spokesman for the company, “and we are quite willing to mention them. You appear to be a person of some intelligence – ”
“Thanks,” interjected Stranleigh.
Jim went on, unheeding the interruption – “and so perhaps you know that we suspect you of being in cohoots with Ricketts.”
“Does ‘cohoots’ mean co-partnership?”
“Something of that sort. You partly persuaded us that wasn’t so, but I followed you to make sure. Perhaps you remember that I caught you coming out from Ricketts’ office. You made for that office the moment you reached Bleachers.”
“Pardon me, but I went first to the hotel.”
“Yes; and you enquired there where Ricketts hung out.”
“Certainly; but that’s in my favour. It showed that so far from being in the employ of the lawyer, I didn’t even know where he lived.”
“It was a good bluff.”
“It’s very circumstantial evidence of my innocence. But for the sake of argument, I will admit that I am in ‘cohoots,’ as you call it, with the estimable Ricketts. What next?”
“The next thing is that you learnt from Miss Armstrong of our intention to go into Bleachers and shoot up the town, including Ricketts.”
“That is true.”
“You didn’t like the plan and said so.”
“That also is correct.”
“You said it should be stopped, not knowing the ways of this country.”
“Certainly. Desirable as may be the shooting up of Bleachers, the odds are too strongly against you.”
“Oh, we’ll chance that. But the next thing you do is to put your funny clothes on, get out your horse, and ride directly to Mr. Ricketts. You are an informer.”
“An informer is always a despicable character, Mr. Dean. What’s the next item in the indictment?”
“Don’t you think that’s enough? Men have been hanged for less. An informer is the most poisonous wretch in the world except a horse thief.”
“Then I am in danger of being hanged?”
“You sure are.”
“Isn’t there any way in which I can compound my felony?”
“Well, I don’t quite know what confounding a felony is, but you’re the sleekest fellow I ever met, and if you think you can palaver us to let you go, you’ve made the mistake of your life.”
“I shouldn’t think of attempting such a thing. I am merely endeavouring to discover your state of mind. You’re strong on muscle, Jim, and I admire your build, but I’m beginning to doubt whether your brain equals your frame. There was a time when your equipment would have been victorious, but those days are long since past. Nowadays it’s brain that wins every time, and in every country. Physical force has had to give way before it. Jimmy, my boy, you’re out of date.”
“Brain isn’t going to help you any,” said Dean, evidently annoyed by these strictures on his mentality.
“Perhaps it won’t, but if there was a corresponding brain in your head, I’d appeal to it, and probably win. Are all your men here as stupid as you, Jim?”
Jim rose up from his chair, a forbidding frown on his brow.
“Look here, stranger,” he called out, “I’ve had enough of that line of talk.”
“Oh no, you haven’t. Please sit down. This line of talk is only beginning, and I say, Jim, lay aside that pipe, and smoke the Havana cigar. It will put reason into your head if anything will.”
Some of the company laughed, and Jim sat down, seeing that his opponent failed to show any fear at his captors’ threatening attitude. He tried to change the course of the conversation into a less personal channel.
“You see, Mr. Stranleigh, we’re short on tobacco, and I want to keep this cigar until to-morrow. I can tell by the smell it’s a good one.”
“That’s all right,” said Stranleigh, “I have plenty more of them down at the house, and when they are finished, I’ll telegraph east for a fresh supply. If you will let me know your favourite brand of tobacco, I’ll order a ton of it at the same time.”
For a moment Jim’s eyes twinkled, then they narrowed into their usual caution.
“Was that what you meant by confusing a penalty? Well, stranger, it doesn’t go here. We ain’t to be bought, even by a ton of tobacco.”
“I hadn’t thought of either buying or bribing you,” said Stranleigh, “therefore we will get back to our original subject, the difference between brain and muscle. I see here on the table a pack of cards in a deplorably greasy condition. If you were playing a game with an opponent who was beating you, would you shoot him?”
“Yes,” promptly replied Jim, “if I found he was cheating.”
“Whereupon his friends would lynch you.”
“A cheater hasn’t any friends.”
“Jim, I shouldn’t like to sit down to a game with you. You would shoot first, and think afterwards, while I, being unarmed, should be at a disadvantage. That, indeed, is just what you are doing now. If you succeed in holding me here you will spoil my game. What I propose to do is not to attack Ricketts with a gun, but to learn his style of play, and beat him at it. Any confounded fool can shoot off a gun; there’s no credit in that. It’s a coward’s trick.”
“You say we’ll spoil your game. You may bet your life we will. You daren’t tell us what it is.”
“Oh yes, I dare, because I have a trick that will quite delude you.”
“I know you’ll try to do that.”
“Exactly. Well, my trick is to tell the truth. The situation is very simple. That morning when from the pit mouth you warned me off the premises, I found Miss Armstrong very much worried because she had learned of your intention to shoot up the town, and could not persuade you to abandon so foolish a project. It then became my duty to prevent you doing what you proposed.”