Here Joe Hurley put in a very pungent word:
“And that might easily be true. If you found his horse and removed the saddle, you might have found the man, too, Tolley, and removed some of his harness.”
“What’s that?” was the startled demand.
“From the first,” Joe said sternly, “I suspected you, Tolley. Your dust won’t hide what you have done. You are altogether too sure the man is dead—after first reporting that you had heard from him in Denver.
“In fact, you are too anxious to cast suspicion on another person. Your conscience—if you have such a thing—is troubling you, Tolley. At least, your fears have made you try to invent a lie that doesn’t work out just the way you expected it to.”
“I’ll show you——”
“You’ll show me nothing, Tolley!” retorted Hurley. “You’ll listen—and these other gentlemen. You got the man’s saddle. It is just as probable that you found his body, as well as that of the horse. And he was known to wear a money-belt around his waist. He was likewise known to be well-fixed when he left Canyon Pass. He’d been doing well here. You knew it, if anybody did. You confess that you rode after the man. And you confess that you got his saddle. Confess the rest of it, you dog. What else have you got in your safe that belonged to——”
Boss Tolley threw caution to the winds at this juncture. Hurley’s scathing denunciation pricked to life in him such personal courage as he possessed. He flung himself forward with a howl of rage and whipped the gun from the holster at his hip.
“Get down, Willie!” shouted Hurley and flung the table on its edge with a crash, dropping behind it.