“You’re a new one on me!” the man who had been called Ike said, with a scowl at King. “Who are you, and how did you get into the house? I saw you running, too, when the shots were fired.”
“I came here with Trumbull,” was the reply. “He went to the front door to get in, while I walked around to the rear to see what was going on there. I had noticed a window up when we approached.”
“How do we know that you didn’t do the shooting?” demanded Clay.
“The truth will come out in the end,” King said. “I was in there when the shots were fired, and so were these men. Who are they?” he asked, addressing his conversation to Clay.
“I’m the sheriff,” declared Ike, “and this man and me own the house. We seen the boys do the shootin’. Yes, we’ve got a clear case.”
He picked up the revolver Alex had thrown down.
“Is this yours, kid?” he asked.
“Yes,” was the dazed reply.
Ike whirled the cylinder, showing two empty cartridges. Then he put the weapon into his pocket with a grin.
“I guess that settles it,” he said. “We’ll take ’em to jail!”