“Steady, there, Abe!”
Randerson’s sharp, cold voice acted with the effect of a dash of water in Catherson’s face. He started, his big hand trembling, for though he had come to kill, he unknowingly wanted to hear some word from Randerson’s lips in proof of his innocence. Had Randerson flinched, he would have taken that as a sign of guilt, as he now took the man’s sternness as an indication of his innocence. He stepped forward until he was no more than a foot from Randerson, and searched his face with wild intentness. And then, suddenly, the weapon in his hand sank down, his legs wavered, he leaned against the wall while his chin dropped to his chest.
“You didn’t do it, Rex, you couldn’t do it!” he muttered hoarsely. “No man who’d done a thing like that could look back at me like you looked. But I’m goin’ to git—” He stopped, for there was a rapid patter of feet on the stairs, and a breathless voice, crying wildly:
“Dad! Dad! Dad!”
And while both men stood, their muscles tensed to leap into action in response to the voice, Hagar burst into the room, looked at them both; saw Catherson’s drawn pistol, and then threw herself upon her father, hid her face on his breast and sobbed: “It wasn’t Rex, dad; it was Masten!”
Catherson’s excitement was over. The first terrible rage had expended itself on Randerson, and after a violent start at Hagar’s words he grew cold and deliberate. Also, the confession seemed to make his resentment against his child less poignant, for he rested his hand on her head and spoke gently to her:
“It’s all right, Hagar—it’s all right. Your old dad ain’t goin’ to hold it ag’in you too hard. We all make mistakes. Why, I was just goin’ to make a mighty whopper myself, by killing Rex, here. You leave this to me.” He pushed her toward Randerson. “You take her back to the shack, Rex. I reckon it won’t take me long to do what I’m goin’ to do. I’ll be back afore dark, mebbe.”
The girl clung to him for an instant. “Dad,” she said. “What are you goin’ to do?”
“If you was a good guesser—” said Catherson coldly. And then he grinned felinely at Randerson and went out. They could hear him going down the stairs. They followed presently, Hagar shrinking and shuddering under Randerson’s arm on her shoulders, and from the porch they saw Catherson, on his pony, riding the trail that Ruth had taken on the day she had gone to see Chavis’ shack.
Randerson got Hagar into the saddle, recognizing the pony and speaking about it. When she told him that Ruth was at her cabin, his face lighted. He thought about the written resignation lying in his room, and he smiled.