“But who is the real thief?”
“I don’t know. I never saw him. I was sound asleep when some one gave me a stunning blow on the forehead. I don’t know whether I was unconscious hours or minutes. It seemed only minutes, only an instant, really when I was able to crawl out of my blankets and start up this red motor car. My one idea was to catch the thief, but the car was in bad shape, that was why he took mine, I suppose, and my head was so dizzy I hardly knew what I was doing.”
“That’s a queer tale, young man,” said the cowboy. “The only thing you’ve got to prove it’s true is the lump on your forehead.”
But Peter felt too ill to argue the subject. Miss Campbell was moved with pity by his condition.
“You are almost a boy,” she said. “I want to be charitable, but I do think you should be punished for having caused so much uneasiness of mind. Will you give me your word to reform——?”
“No,” interrupted Peter fiercely; “no, I’ll not give my word to you or anyone else. It’s absurd.”
“Do you think we don’t know who you are?” here put in Billie, whose anger had flamed up at the sight of his defiance and the memory of her beloved Comet snatched away in the night. “Do you think we haven’t heard how you escaped from Chicago with the police at your very heels? We might have thought there was some mistake even then, if Cousin Helen’s pocket book hadn’t disappeared along with you after we had taken you into the automobile. Fifty dollars it had in it. And now you come in the night and steal the Comet, and when you are caught you lay the blame on another man’s shoulders.”
Peter Van Vechten looked calmly into the faces of his accusers. Then suddenly he began to laugh.
“I have had bad luck this trip,” he said. He appeared to be talking to himself. “Nothing but disasters all the way.” He lay back and closed his eyes.
“There’s a cold blooded criminal for you,” said Barney McGee. “He’s the kind the East produces and sends out West to be finished off. A pretty finishing school you’ll find here, too, me boy.”