“I was ranching,” was the low answer. “I had come to San Mateo two years before from the east, bringing you and your mother and considerable money. I bought a ranch and stocked it with cattle; I was doing well, in spite of the fact I was new to the country and the business. Also I was making friends, and I had been nominated for the legislature of the Territory to run against Gordon. But I had taken to drinking with the men I met, other cattlemen, because I fancied no harm in it. And then while in a drunken stupor I killed Jim Dent.”
“Had you quarreled with him?”
“Never, never––till that moment I killed Jim. They said I quarreled with him then. But I remember nothing. Jim was my best friend; I would have trusted him with my life. Even now I can’t make it seem real I shot him, though it must be true by those four witnesses.”
“What of your ranch? Your political nomination?”
“I withdrew from the latter; that was one of the terms made by Gordon on which they were to help me escape instead of turning me over for prosecution. And my ranch and cattle, I had to deed them over to the four men too.”
“Then their friendship wasn’t disinterested,” Steele said quickly, with suspicion dawning on his face.
“They weren’t really friends, I knew that.”
“How were they to arrange your escape?”
The senior Weir seemed to shudder at the question.
“By bribing the sheriff and county attorney. I was then to leave the country at once, never showing my face again, or I should be arrested. I was still half dazed by whiskey and terror; I took your mother and you and 312 fled this far, when my money gave out. So here I’ve remained ever since, for here I could hide and here was her grave.”