“No,––I––I didn’t tell her that. But she is aware that we met some time in the past:––that there is some kind of secret between Brenchfield and me.”
“Are you going to have that two-faced hypocrite arrested?” asked Jim.
“No, siree!”
“And why not, pray?”
Phil gave Jim all his reasons “why not,” and, despite Jim’s cajolings and threatenings, he remained obdurate on the point.
“Well,” exclaimed Langford at last, “you’re positively the sentimentalest ass I ever met. But maybe after all you are right. Brenchfield has had this thing eating at his liver like a cancer for six years now and the longer it eats the worse he’ll suffer. He is on the down-grade right now, or else I am sadly mistaken. He is up to the ears in it with the worst crooks in the Valley:––cattle rustlers, warehouse looters, horse thieves, jail birds, bootleggers and half-breeds. Some of these fellows some day are going to get sore with him. Oh, you may be sure his sins are going to find him out;––and the higher he goes the farther he will have to fall.
“It certainly will be one hell of a crash when it comes, and Jimmy Langford hopes to be there with bells on at the funeral of Mayor Brenchfield and his hoggish ambitions.”
Phil crumpled up the paper in his palm.
“Here!” cried Jim. “What are you doing that for?”
Phil smiled a little sadly.