The king of scouts looked long and intently at the man. Suddenly his face lightened. He smiled.
“I remember you,” he said quietly. “Wild Bill reformed Dodge City a few years ago. Gave the tough ones twenty-four hours’ notice to leave town. The chief of the disreputable outfit, a man who tried highway robbery when the money did not flow in rapidly enough from card cheating, was one Rixton Clay. You are the hombre.”
The murderer showed his teeth. His face was as pale as death.
Buffalo Bill went on calmly: “Clay is not your real name. I’ll bet it’s Holmes, and that you are the cousin of Myra Wilton.”
The expression that came to the villain’s face showed that the king of scouts had made a correct guess. The latter proceeded with increased confidence: “You are in a scheme to capture a rich estate. That’s plain. Somebody, relative of Jared and Matt Holmes, Myra Wilton, and yourself, has died recently. With the Holmes brothers and the girl out of the way, you will become the sole heir to the fortune. I am right, eh?” No answer. “Of course I am right. Come, own up, for you are on the toboggan, and a close mouth won’t save you from the fate that awaits the murderer.”
“I have nothing to say,” replied Rixton Clay slowly.
“Oh, but you have,” said Buffalo Bill, as he brought his revolver nearer the head of his victim. “You have a whole lot to say. You are going to tell me all about your game. You are going deep into details. You are going to tell me how Jared Holmes was killed, by your orders, in Taos, and how you afterward killed the slayer when you had no further use for his services. You are going to do a whole lot of talk, and you are going to begin right now. One, two, three——”
“All right”—the words were jerked out—“I’ll talk. Curse, you! I wish I had killed you when I first caught sight of your face.”
Buffalo Bill shrugged his shoulders and grinned. “You were a fool, and no mistake. But as I am the winner by your bad break, I’ll not raise a kick. Now, what is your true name?”
“Rixton Holmes.”