“Ryker came out and told us last night.”
“And Ryker was the one who wrote the warnings, wasn’t he? He used paper that the county furnished.”
“He wrote ’em,” nodded Ames. “Cutter wanted to be judge of this county, and he hated Judge Beal. They warned the sheriff, too. Cutter said he was too honest. But we didn’t know who killed Mallette. We thought Pete was to blame for that. Ryker wanted to marry Dawn Conley. Said he’d get control of the property thataway. Ryker was a bad bird.”
“Thank you, Ames. You’re wise to tell it all, and it won’t hurt you none at the trial.”
Hashknife turned to the old judge, who still stood at the desk, gun in hand.
“You can put up your gun, Judge,” he said. “The whole county will vindicate you for your mistake. Mallette was a thief and a card-sharp. You did just what any man would have done. Now, forget it.”
“I—I’ll have to put these three birdies in jail,” said Roarin’, “and turn Jimmy Moran loose, eh?”
“Y’betcha.”
“Bring ’em along, boys.”
Hashknife turned to meet Dawn and Pete. None of them spoke for several moments. Franklyn Moran stepped beside Dawn; he seemed bewildered. Hashknife smiled at Dawn.