Mrs. Hallard was thinking fast. Sandy’s story had been illuminating in many ways.
“You’re dead right about one thing, Sandy,” she said. “He don’t know about Jim Texas. That’s what’s bin eatin’ ’im.”
She suddenly realized the significance of Gard’s answer to her question about Helen Anderson. He did not know that his innocence was practically established.
“Well,” Sandy demanded, “what in thunder’s he doin’ round here then? Why ain’t he tryin’ to fix things up fer himself? He’s got a’ plenty cash. He ought to be gittin’ a good lawyer an’ seein’ if he can’t prove his innercence. As ’tis now, he must think he’s likely to be jugged any minit.”
Kate Hallard’s eyes flashed.
“He does think so,” she cried. “He’s afraid of it, too. That I know. An’ bein’ afraid, here’s what the man does.”
She leaned from the saddle and looked Sandy in the eyes.
“He somehow gits hold of a deed o’ Sam Hallard’s, to that Modesta range Sam bought just ’fore he was killed. I give that deed to Arnold to record, an’ Mr. Gard ain’t said nothin’ to me, but I figure he an’ Arnold was together when the cloudburst come that gits Arnold. He got Frank’s coat, someway, an’ that deed was in the pocket. I d’ know where he’s bin all this time, but I know one thing. He ain’t bin in no wickedness.”
“Bet your life not,” Sandy assented. “Drive erlong, Kate.”
“Well: the deed’s bin lost these two years, an’ that devil, Westcott, he found it out, an’ he done me out’n the prop’ty. Oh! He’s a side-winder, fer sure!”