“Prove it?” Baggs laughed harshly. “Do you want me to?”
“By Jack Pollock?” asked Nan.
“Oh, you knew he was here, did you? Do you want me to bring him over here and face you with it? Your name is Nan Whitlock, or that’s the name he knew you by in Frisco. No doubt you’ve had a good many names. People who do what you attempted here would naturally have used many names.”
“Then I either get out or you send me to jail?”
“If you are here to-morrow noon, I’ll send⸺”
Came the sound of a swift, heavy step on the sidewalk in front of the office, the door was flung violently open and Len Ayres stepped in. Behind him was little Larry. For a moment Ayres looked at Nan, then he turned on Baggs, who had stepped back, a frightened look in his weak eyes.
“I just wanted to say a few short words to you, Baggs,” said Len hoarsely. “I’m takin’ my son out to the Box S to live there. Contrary to yore advice, the county won’t take him, because I won’t let ’em. You’ve done yore best to poison his mind against me, you dirty pup; and I want you to get this straight; if you ever do another thing against me, I’ll shoot yore dirty soul plumb out of yore skinny carcass.”
“Maybe that’s what you tried to do last night,” said Baggs rashly, and with one swift stride Len grabbed him, slammed him against the wall and held him helpless, while with a free hand he proceeded to slap Baggs’s face until the Lobo Wells lawyer shrieked for mercy.
When Len let him loose, Baggs slid weakly to the floor, holding his face in both hands. Len looked at him disgustedly.
“Gee, what a slappin’ he got!” exclaimed Larry.