“That will not make a lie the truth, Mr. Tolley,” rejoined Hunt, now squarely between the group of desperadoes and Joe Hurley’s position.
“You mean to say I’m a liar?” blustered Tolley.
“I mean to say that the story you have repeated about the young woman and the man you say has disappeared has no foundation in fact and that you have in your possession no proof to back your statement. If that is calling you a liar, Mr. Tolley, then consider yourself so called!”
There was a little stir among the listeners at the tables—a stir of approval, and one voice ejaculated:
“What’s it all about?”
Evidently not all of these men now present had been at hand when Smithy had taken offense at Tolley’s words earlier in the evening which precipitated this situation. Hunt, without raising his voice at all, continued:
“I take it that you have no new evidence of a crime having been committed? You did not see the man fall? You merely saw the young woman at the summit of the declivity? Later you recovered a saddle you recognized from the fallen rubbish? Am I right? Isn’t that the extent of your evidence?”
“Well! Look yere! I reckon I know what I am talkin’ about——”
“But you do not talk about what you know,” interposed Hunt. “To my personal knowledge—and that of Mr. Hurley—the missing man was not buried under that heap of rubbish with his horse.”
“Then he went into the river!” cried Tolley.