Trevison rode fast, filled with a grim elation. He pitied the Judge. An error—a momentary weakening of moral courage—had plunged the jurist into the clutches of Corrigan; he could hardly be held responsible for what had transpired—he was a puppet in the hands of an unscrupulous schemer, with a threat of exposure hanging over him. No wonder he feared Corrigan! Trevison’s thoughts grew bitter as they dwelt upon the big man; the old longing to come into violent physical contact with the other seized him, raged within him, brought a harsh laugh to his lips as he rode. But a greater passion than he felt for the Judge or Corrigan tugged at him as he urged the big black over the plains toward the twinkling lights of Manti—a fierce exultation which centered around Rosalind Benham. She had duped him, betrayed him to his enemy, had played with him—but she had lost!
Yet the thought of his coming victory over her was poignantly unsatisfying. He tried to picture her—did picture her—receiving the news of Corrigan’s defeat, and somehow it left him with a feeling of regret. The vengeful delight that he should have felt was absent—he felt sorry for her. He charged himself with being a fool for yielding to so strange a sentiment, but it lingered persistently. It fed his rage against Corrigan, however, doubled it, for upon him lay the blame.
It was late when he reached the outskirts of Manti. He halted Nigger in the shadow of a shed a hundred yards or so down the track from the courthouse, dismounted and made his way cautiously down the railroad tracks. He was beyond the radius of the lights from various windows that he passed, but he moved stealthily, not knowing whether Corrigan had stationed guards about the courthouse, as Levins had warned. An instant after reaching a point opposite the courthouse he congratulated himself on his discretion, for he caught a glimmer of light at the edge of a window shade in the courthouse, saw several indistinct figures congregated at the side door, outside. He slipped behind a tool shed at the side of the track, and crouching there, watched and listened. A mumbling of voices reached him, but he could distinguish no word. But it was evident that the men outside were awaiting the reappearance of one of their number who had gone into the building.
Trevison watched, impatiently. Then presently the side door opened, letting out a flood of light, which bathed the figures of the waiting men. Trevison scowled, for he recognized them as Corrigan’s deputies. But he was not surprised, for he had half expected them to be hanging around the building. Two figures stepped down from the door as he watched, and he knew them for Corrigan and Gieger. Corrigan’s voice reached him.
“The lock on this door is broken. I had to kick it in this morning. One of you stay inside, here. The rest of you scatter and keep your eyes peeled. There’s trickery afoot. Judge Lindman didn’t go to Dry Bottom—the agent says he’s sure of that because he saw every man that’s got aboard a train here within the last twenty-four hours—and Judge Lindman wasn’t among them! Levins was, though; he left on the one-thirty this morning and got back on the six-o’clock, tonight.” He vanished into the darkness beyond the door, but called back: “I’ll be within call. Don’t be afraid to shoot if you see anything suspicious!”
Trevison saw a man enter the building, and the light was blotted out by the closing of the door. When his eyes were again accustomed to the darkness he observed that the men were standing close together—they seemed to be holding a conference. Then the group split up, three going toward the front of the building; two remaining near the side door, and two others walking around to the rear.
For an instant Trevison regretted that he had not taken Levins’ advice about forming a posse of his own men to take the courthouse by storm, and he debated the thought of postponing action. But there was no telling what might happen during an interval of delay. In his rage over the discovery of the trick that had been played on him Corrigan might tear the interior of the building to pieces. He would be sure to if he suspected the presence of the original record. Trevison did not go for the help that would have been very welcome. Instead, he spent some time twirling the cylinder of his pistol.
He grew tired of crouching after a time and lay flat on his stomach in the shadow of the tool shed, watching the men as they tramped back and forth, around the building. He knew that sooner or later there would be a minute or two of relaxation, and of this he had determined to take advantage. But it was not until sound in the town had perceptibly decreased in volume that there was any sign of the men relaxing their vigil. And then he noted them congregating at the front of the building.
“Hell,” he heard one of them say; “what’s the use of hittin’ that trail all night! Bill’s inside, an’ we can see the door from here. I’m due for a smoke an’ a palaver!” Matches flared up; the sounds of their voices reached Trevison.
Trevison disappointedly relaxed. Then, filled with a sudden decision, he slipped around the back of the tool shed and stole toward the rear of the courthouse. It projected beyond the rear of the bank building, adjoining it, forming an L, into the shadow of which Trevison slipped. He stood there for an instant, breathing rapidly, undecided. The darkness in the shadow was intense, and he was forced to feel his way along the wall for fear of stumbling. He was leaning heavily on his hands, trusting to them rather than to his footing, when the wall seemed to give way under them and he fell forward, striking on his hands and knees. Fortunately, he had made no sound in falling, and he remained in the kneeling position until he got an idea of what had happened. He had fallen across the threshold of a doorway. The door had been unfastened and the pressure of his hands had forced it inward. It was the rear door of the bank building. He looked inward, wondering at Braman’s carelessness—and stared fixedly straight into a beam of light that shone through a wedge-shaped crevice between two boards in the partition that separated the buildings.