“Yes, clear,” said Allen. “The evidence is all against him.”
Yet it was not all quite clear to Langford. To be sure, he had expected to receive news that Dakota had accomplished the destruction of Doubler, but he had not anticipated the fortunate appearance of Duncan at the nester’s cabin during the commission of the murder, nor had he expected Sheila to be near the scene of the crime. It had turned out better than he had planned, for since he had burned the agreement that he had made with Dakota, the latter had no hold on him whatever, and if it were finally proved that he had committed the crime there would come an end to both Dakota and Doubler.
Only one thing puzzled him. Dakota had been to his place, he knew that he was charged with the murder and that the agreement had been burned. He also knew that Duncan and Sheila would bear witness against him. And yet, though he had had an opportunity to escape, he had not done so. Why not?
He put this interrogation to Allen, carefully avoiding reference to anything which would give the sheriff any idea that he possessed any suspicion that Dakota was not really guilty.
“That’s what’s bothering me!” declared the latter. “He’s had time enough to hit the breeze clear out of the Territory. Though,” he added, squinting at Langford, “Dakota ain’t never been much on the run. He’d a heap rather face the music. Damn the cuss!” he exploded impatiently.
He finished his breakfast in silence, and then again approached the door of Dakota’s cabin, knocking loudly, as before.
“I’m wanting that palaver now, Dakota,” he said coaxingly.
He heard Dakota laugh. “Have you viewed the corpse, Allen?” came his voice, burdened with mockery.
“No,” said Allen.
“You’re a hell of a sheriff—wanting to take a man when you don’t know whether he’s done anything.”