“Yes,” replied X. “Whose is it?”
“Mine,” said Hynson defiantly.
“Yours!” rejoined X. sternly. “How came you by it? You have seen the initials on the stock. Don’t you know whose it is?”
Seeing that Beidler was not to be deceived, Hynson, after some prevarication, acknowledged that he took the rifle from the coach.
“I thought,” said he, “I might as well have it as any one.”
This admission of guilt would have been followed by Hynson’s immediate arrest had not Beidler hoped by delay to find some evidence against him of murder. The negro Hanson had, in the meantime, seen Hynson. He told Beidler he resembled the man he saw at the house of the Chinawoman. Beidler hesitated no longer, but at once arrested Hynson for stealing the rifle, intending to keep him in custody until satisfied of his guilt or innocence of the higher crime. Impatient of this restraint, Hynson daily vented his wrath upon his keepers.
“As soon as I get out,” said he to John Fetherstun, “I intend to kill you. Only give me the chance, and see how quick I’ll do it.”
John laughed, dismissing all his threats with some axioms less complimentary to his courage than his bravado, such as, “You crow well,” “Barking dogs seldom bite,” etc.
Beidler soon became satisfied that no evidence could be found sufficient to convict Hynson of murder, and the stealing of the rifle in a community where higher crimes were committed daily with impunity did not call for heavier punishment than the thief had already received. So Hynson was released. As Fetherstun opened the door of the prison for him, he said,
“Have you got a six-shooter?”