The big man started violently. "Did I—What makes you ask that?"
"You promised me a straight answer. But Braden said so—before he died."
Gavin French did not reply immediately. "Braden was a rotten liar all his life," he said at last. "But I promised you a straight answer, and I keep my word. Yes, I killed your father—at least, I suppose that's what it comes to."
Angus drew a long breath. Its hissing intake was clear in the silence.
"You suppose!" he said. "My father was not armed. Do you think I will let you go, gun or no gun. One of us stays on this summit, Gavin French!"
"In your place I would say just that," Gavin admitted. "But I am going to tell you how it happened; and then I am going to let you take up your gun and do what you like. And just remember that if I wanted to lie I would have done it in the first place."
He paused a moment frowning at Angus.
"The day your father was shot," he began, "I was on the range looking for horses, and I had my rifle. In the afternoon I was riding up the long coulee by Cat Creek when I heard a shot ahead, and in a few minutes I came upon a steer staggering along. Then he rolled over and lay kicking. I got off my horse and saw your brand on him, and that he had been shot. Just then your father came tearing up the coulee. He saw me beside the dead steer, my rifle in my hand, and naturally he thought I had done the killing. He had no earthly use for me, and besides that he and I had some trouble a week before over a two-year-old. So when he rode up I knew there was going to be more trouble, and I was dead right.
"He didn't give me much chance to explain, and he didn't get off his horse. He damned me for a liar and a rustler, and suddenly he reached down and grabbed the barrel of my rifle with both hands. I've often wished I had let him take it, but by that time he was so damned mad that I wasn't going to let him have a gun, and I was pretty hot myself. So I hung onto it and tried to twist it out of his hands. Then his horse started to back. I was dragged along, holding to the gun, and my hold slipped. I swear I don't know how it happened, unless my slipping hand lifted the hammer, but anyway the rifle went off.
"He let go then, and his horse bolted. I didn't know he was badly hurt, because he was riding all right. In fact I wasn't sure he was hit at all. That was the last I saw of him. My own horse was frightened by the shot and it took me some time to catch him. I rode two or three miles looking for your father, but I was afraid that would lead to more trouble, because I thought the first thing he would do would be to organize himself with a gun. So I went home and kept my mouth shut. The next day I heard he was dead. That's all. And there's your gun. If you feel like playing even, go to it."