Spike Cahill spurred around to the back door, while Peter Morgan dismounted, drawing his gun. But before he could reach the steps, Lem Sheeley had dismounted and stopped him.
‘Just a minute, Morgan,’ said Lem coldly. ‘This is my job—not yours. And I’m not takin’ yore advice. If that drunken kid killed Ben Leach, it’s my job to take care of him.’
Morgan stepped back, scowling at the sheriff.
‘Well, go ahead and do it; we’ll argue later.’
Lem walked up the steps. Nan was still standing at the doorway.
‘Oh, he didn’t do it,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t you see, they are trying to ruin us. It’s part of their game, Mr. Sheeley.’
Lem stopped and looked her straight in the eyes. It was probably the first time he had ever looked any woman straight in the eyes, and for a moment he forgot that inside the house was a murderer.
‘Do yuh think so?’ he asked softly.
‘I—I think so. They didn’t want you to interfere.’
‘Mm-m-m-m,’ Lem moved past her and in to the living-room. She did not leave the door, but watched Peter Morgan, standing at the bottom of the steps. Noah Evans still sat on his horse.