“He must say something for Nate, too,” put in Mrs. Dunbar. “He must tell about the attack on Jake Phelps and clear Nate. Doctor! Do what you can! He must talk!”
In their excitement and apprehension, those interested in what Red Steve had to say showed themselves in rather a merciless light. The doctor raised his hand.
“I haven’t my medicine case with me,” said he, “but if we had a little liquor——”
He turned and peered at Bloom. The latter, somewhat reluctantly, drew a flask from his pocket. The doctor, lifting Red Steve’s head with one arm, pressed the flask to his lips. A swallow of the fiery liquor gurgled down the desperado’s throat.
“Get him to talk about Nate first,” said Perry.
“It isn’t necessary for him to say anything about Nate, Perry,” returned the scout. “We’ll prove Nate’s innocence in another way. Anyhow, from the very facts of the case, it’s certain Red Steve had nothing to do with what happened to Jake Phelps. Red Steve was wounded by Red Thunderbolt several hours before that attack was made on Jake. That eliminates Red Steve.”
A broken cry escaped Mrs. Dunbar.
“Cheer up, Mrs. Dunbar!” said the scout reassuringly. “Nate will be freed of all suspicion absolutely. Just be patient.”
“I said all along,” scowled Phelps, “that Red Steve wasn’t the one who made that attack on Jake.”
“So did I,” seconded the sheriff.