“No. Ross hasn’t said a word to me since the shooting. And from what I hear of him, I don’t think he’s scared either. This is my affair—and yours.”
“Yes, damn him. He druv me out of the asbestos, and now he’s tryin’ to drive me out of the country.”
“Suit yourself about that,” replied the sheriff suavely. “If Ross had come to me, perhaps you wouldn’t have had a chance to leave the country. Here are the facts. You bought the rifle and gave it to Pete. I traced it by the factory number. You sent Pete back after the—deer. I’ve got Axel’s word for that and his word is good. Cameron, here, picked up the three shells after you found the Injun in the road. Ross gave you the licking of your life at Lost Farm. He kept Avery from selling to Bascomb and you were the man that gave Bascomb the tip about the asbestos, and your indorsement is on the check Bascomb gave you—for the information. Besides, you blamed near gave yourself away just a minute ago. Now, do you want to stay and stand trial or do you want to look for a job up North? It’s up to you. Take it or leave it.”
The sturdy little sheriff bristled like a terrier facing an ox. He took his hat from the table. “I’m going to the station, Denny. I’ll wait there for the three forty-five going north. She’ll probably be late—but I’ll wait.”
“Hell!” said Harrigan, endeavoring to maintain a bluff front; “I’ll go—but I’m broke.”
“That’s all right. I expected that. You meet me over there and I’ll fix that up for you; but, just remember, this is strictly unofficial—and confidential,” he added, facing Cameron.
They descended the stairs and Harrigan, with a surly farewell, left them.
“Well, Jim,” said the sheriff, once more the rotund and smiling individual, “was it all right?”
“Well, I should smile. But say, Scotty, I’d jest like to know why you ast me to come up to the room and listen?”
“Oh, there are two or three reasons. One of them was that I wanted a witness in case—”