“Yes,” he answered slowly at last.
“Well, then, he must have been one of the rustlers,” cried Stelton in a triumphant voice, turning to the rest of the men, who were listening intently.
“All right, I admit it,” remarked Larkin coolly. “I don’t see where that is taking you.”
“Just keep yore shirt on an’ yuh will in a minute,” 171 retorted Stelton. “Now just one or two more questions.
“Do you remember the first night Caldwell came to the Bar T ranch?”
Larkin did not answer. A premonition that he was in the toils of this man concerning that dark thing in his past life smote him with a chill of terror. He remembered wondering that very night whether or not Stelton had been listening to his talk with Caldwell. Then the recollection suddenly came to him that, even though he had heard, the foreman could not expose the thing that was back of it all. Once more he regained his equilibrium.
“Yes, I remember that night,” he said calmly.
“All right!” snapped Stelton, his words like pistol-shots. “Then yuh remember that Smithy Caldwell got five hundred dollars from yuh after a talk by the corral, don’t you?”
“Yes,” replied Larkin, in immense relief that Stelton had not mentioned the blackmail.
“Well, then, gents,” cried the foreman with the air of a lawyer making a great point, “yuh have the admission from Larkin that he gave money secretly to one of the rustlers. If that ain’t connivance and ackchul support I’m a longhorn heifer.” 172