“You’ve sure got another think coming to you,” he retorted indignantly. “Not knowing anything whatever about this matter you mention, I’ll not come to Lawyer Frances’ office and settle. I do not own a gun, and I haven’t had one in my hands to-day. If Barker’s dog was shot, somebody else did it, and you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“Of course he’ll say that,” cried Berlin; “but he caught himself foul when he owned up that the handkerchief was his. I found it hanging from a bush while, with Springer and Piper, I was following his tracks after he shot Silver Tongue. Phil and Sleuth both saw me pick the handkerchief off the branch, and they’ll swear to it.”
Grant’s steady, unflinching eyes were fixed on Barker now, and he seemed to be trying to read the thoughts and motives of this fellow, who since his arrival in Oakdale had so persistently and venomously harassed him. The limits of his endurance had about been reached; the strain was too much, and something threatened to snap. Nevertheless, he still struggled to maintain a desperate hold on himself—struggled to restrain and master the cyclonic Grant temper, which invariably wrought havoc when it broke loose. In his ears at that very moment seemed to echo his father’s words of warning, but the hammering of his outraged heart promised to drown those echoes into silence. Despite his outward appearance of self-control, his voice shook a little as he said:
“You’ve never let up on me an instant, have you, Barker? Well, you sure have no idea of the dangerous ground you’re treading on. I tell you now I can account for every minute of my time since leaving my aunt’s house this morning, and I can prove that I didn’t shoot your dog.”
“How will you prove it?”
“By Lander. He met me at the house, and we were together all the time until we returned from his camp after the storm began.”
“By Lander!” scoffed Barker. “Why, he’s the biggest liar I know—excepting you.”
“If you say I shot your dog, you’re a liar!”
Teeth set, fists clenched, Barker started; but Pickle’s gnarled hand gripped his collar, and the deputy sheriff snapped:
“Hold on, my boy! Go slow.”