"Well, I rather think we did. Rufe and I between us," replied Guy coolly.
Deacon burst into a storm of furious invective. He cursed Guy by everything he could think of. At last he wound up.
"You needn't think you've got the best of me. I'll raise the country against you. They'll have to have one inquest over again. I'll see they have both. I don't care what happens to me. I'll see you hung yet. I swear it."
Guy waited until the other stopped, exhausted.
Then he said very quietly: "Oliver, what's the punishment for horse stealing? Five years' penitentiary, isn't it? I think that's the minimum."
It was quite enough. Deacon went white as ashes.
"Listen to me," said Guy with sudden sternness. "If you're anywhere in Orange County this time to-morrow I'll denounce you for stealing and selling Harvey Blissett's horse."
Without another word Deacon slunk off into the gloom.
Guy never again set eyes upon him, for less than six months later the ruffian was killed in a brawl with a Cuban cigar maker.