Hashknife said a few short words to Len, who stared at him in amazement, but went hurrying out of the place. The sheriff moved the men back from Amos, who was panting heavily.
“Go ahead and talk,” said Hashknife. “Nobody stoppin’ yuh.”
Amos gulped and began:
“I never killed anybody. Honest to God, I never killed anybody. Harry Cole pulled the jobs. He was sheriff and I was the prosecutor. He wanted money. Prentice was crooked. He wanted Len’s wife. We needed some one to blame for the two robberies, so we framed to incriminate Len. Prentice stole that hat, and the bank robbery was a fake, but we sent Len to the penitentiary. I swear that’s the way of it. We didn’t think Len would come back here. Prentice didn’t have any nerve, and he worried. He thought somebody might find out about it; so he drank. Cole was afraid he’d talk, so he killed him. I didn’t know about it until after it was all done. But I never hurt anybody. I’m innocent of that. All I ever did was to protect them and take my share.”
“Cole tried to kill me, eh?” grinned Hashknife.
“I know he did. Pollock helped him the last time.”
“You dirty liar!” screamed Pollock.
“Oh, I’ve got yore derringer,” said Hashknife. “You left your callin’ card, Jack Evans. Yeah, I think there’s still a reward for you in Redfields.”
“Cole was right,” gritted Pollock. “He had the dope on you. I thought he was crazy. Well, damn you, all you can do is send me back to Redfields. I can square that all right.”
Some one had brought the doctor, who went to work on Cole and the swamper. The sheriff walked around in a daze, after putting handcuffs on Pollock. He came to Hashknife.