‘Keep yore hands off,’ he requested them. ‘This job belongs to the law—not to a lot of damn fools with a rope.’
‘Then you better do somethin’ right quick,’ said Peter Morgan. ‘Either you do yore duty, Lem, or——’
‘Or what?’
‘You’ll see.’
Shortly after the sheriff and deputy drove away with the body of Ben Leach, old Paul Lane rode in to Mesa City. He had been to Cañonville, but had stopped at home on his way back, where he heard what had happened. Now he wanted more information than Nan was able to give him.
He met Peter Morgan in front of the bank. Dave Morgan and Joe Cave, the stage driver, were there. For several moments the big cattleman and the nester eyed each other closely. Then—
‘That’s what yuh get for stayin’ where yuh ain’t wanted,’ said Peter coldly.
‘Yea-a-ah?’ Lane gritted his word through clenched teeth.
‘That’s what I said, Lane. You better move quick.’
‘I’m not movin’, Morgan. To-day I filed a homestead.’