Tobias shook his head slightly. “Let me talk, Ritter,” he muttered. “My God, I’ve never talked. Let me have a chance now. You others go away. I want to speak just to Johnny and Kelsey.”
“Better humor him,” Ritter advised as he got to his feet. “He’ll go in a few minutes.”
Johnny and the district attorney nodded their heads and got to their knees beside the dying man.
“What is it, Toby?” Johnny asked.
Toby stared at the boy for an interval before he answered. “You hate Aaron Gallup even as I do,” he said at last. “That’s why I called for you. Yes, I do hate him,” he repeated in answer to the question in the boy’s eyes. “I’ve always hated him—but he’s got me.”
“Gallup shot you?”
“Aaron Gallup—get that straight. Roddy was with him. Roddy didn’t shoot, though.
“I was going to the Reservation. I’d brought the chief in to see Gallup last night—I’ll tell you why later. You know they had trouble. I was on top the hotel. I saw you drive away with the old Indian. I got a team and started after you about daylight.
“I got just about here when I saw four men coming fast. I thought they were after me, and I raced the horses. The four of them split up at the forks. Roddy and Gallup chased me. When I saw it was Gallup I was afraid to stop. He yelled at me—so did the sheriff, but I kept on going.
“Gallup fired then. I must have turned around, for I saw his gun flash again. I fell out of the rig, I remember, because I was on the ground when I opened my eyes. Gallup was standing over me. ‘Guess you’ll stop now,’ he said. ‘You can talk your damned head off if you want to. Won’t be any one to hear you blabbin’ about me.’