Chapter XXI
AN ADMISSION FROM BRYANT CAVENDISH
A close-range view of Bryant Cavendish fulfilled everything the Lone Ranger might have expected from what he had heard about him. His face looked as if it had been chopped out of a block of granite. His eyes, small, deep-set, were the coldest, hardest eyes that he had ever seen. They were the eyes of a man who would die before he would forgive a wrong; a man who had lived with hate. Bryant showed not the slightest trace of fear. Even in his undershirt he could look haughty and arrogant. He met the steady gaze of the masked man, his mouth clamped hard-shut.
"Cavendish," began the Lone Ranger in a low but very decisive voice, "I've come a long way to talk to you."
There was no reply.
"First of all, what do you know about the murder of some Texas Rangers in Bryant's Gap?"