He had not stopped there. One thing had led to another—little things, most of them. Like a rolling snowball, the affair had gained impetus. The one man Buck had feared was Sam Fisher, the sheriff of Pecos, and he had tried desperately to keep Fisher out of the way. Even now, he perceived, Fisher was the one man who threatened him.
If he could only be rid of Fisher! With Fisher out of the way all would yet be well. The murder of Cervantes could be met and faced down; with Sheriff Tracy handling the affair, no jury in the county would dare to convict Buck. Jake Harper could be held a prisoner until the mortgage was foreclosed. Lies and false witnesses would still serve to smooth the way.
Buck strode from the room, left the building, and passed over to the corrals. Here his entire outfit was lounging about as though waiting for his coming. Not until he met their nods and greetings did Buck come to a full decision as to what he would do.
For, as yet, these punchers knew nothing of the Cervantes killing beyond what had been reported from town. None of them had witnessed it. All of them, beyond a doubt, held strong suspicions. It had been a despicable act, even in their eyes.
Buck came to a halt, beckoned to the men, and met their curious stares with a flame of resolution in his eyes.
“Boys,” he said quietly, “the story that Sam Fisher told in town was true. Steve Arnold must have seen the killing of Cervantes. We could have made it stick on Fisher, at that, if he hadn’t been too smart for me.”
Every man there appreciated what this confession meant to Buck.
“Now, boys,” went on the rancher, “Sam Fisher is no fool. As things stand right now, he’s playin’ a strong game and a winnin’ game. He’s got us blockaded here, and the only thing left for me is to take my med’cine without a whine. I aim to do it. Still, that’s no reason for draggin’ you boys into the same noose, so I’m here to give each of you his time. You ain’t workin’ for me no more.”
An outburst of protest was quieted by Buck’s uplifted hand, in which was a roll of bills.
“Sandy Davitt! Come an’ git it, puncher.”