"Are you wide-awake now, Bryant?"
"Course I am," retorted the old man in a nettled voice. "What d'you want?"
"I took your will from the desk. I want you to take a look at it." A paper was extended toward Bryant. "Is there enough light in here for you to see it?"
"I don't need tuh see it, I know what's in it!"
"Examine it anyway."
"Fer what?"
"See if it's just the way you want it!"
"I've got fed up with all these fool stunts of yores, stranger. Now, for the last time, will yuh leave me be?"
The Lone Ranger found it difficult to control his anger. Before him, sitting upright in the bed, was the man who was indirectly responsible for the murder of those Texas Rangers, whose graves were in the Gap; for Becky's death; the stabbing of Gimlet; possibly even of Rangoon and Mort. And this man was asking to be left alone! The masked man's clenched fists trembled while he fought for self-control. He must, above all, keep his voice down. He leaned forward.
"I want to know," he said softly as he put the will in his pocket, "who Andrew Munson is."