"That is our loss and their protection, sir. I think Conley was partly right. He said there was only one way to wipe out that gang, and that was to go up there, accuse them of being a lot of crooks and then shoot it out with them."
Grandon smiled and shook his head. "Impossible, Henderson."
"Yes, sir, and Magee knows it. He must have a complete spy system, because he knows our every move in advance. I feel sure that this post is carefully watched all the time. McKay felt the same about it, sir; and Conley, too."
"I should not be surprised to know that Conley has joined Magee."
Henderson grinned. "If he ever does—look out, Magee! I know how you feel about Conley's actions, sir; but I believe his story. Magee was afraid of Conley, I think. Conley was the only one of us that might forget his sworn duty. He was a cowpuncher, not an officer. And as far as Marie Beaudet was concerned—" Henderson hesitated and shook his head, "Conley would never harm a woman, sir. Why he is head-over-heels in love with Norah Clarey."
Grandon pursued his lips and frowned slightly. "I'm afraid that Conley can never prove his innocence, Henderson. Anyway, it is a breach of the rules for an officer to take a drink of liquor."
The talk drifted to other things, as they waited for daylight, half-dozing in their chairs. The rain pattered steadily on the shake-covered roof and dripped hollowly off the eaves. It was about five o'clock when footsteps grated across the porch, and into the room came Louie Beaudet. His face was white above his great beard, and he half-staggered in his stride. In one hand he carried a heavy Colt revolver.
It flashed through the minds of both men that Louie had lost his reason. He was growling deeply in his throat, and waving the gun wildly.
"Whose gun—dat?" he roared huskily.
"Hold it still, Beaudet!" snapped Grandon.