"You did blow one man's life out recently," said Wade sneeringly, "and I do not doubt but that you would blow my life out, if you were in the dark where two other gentlemen could not look upon the deed."
The peculiar manner in which Wade remarked this caused the two to look one at the other, and the captain turned pale, staggered toward his horse, and replied more cautiously: "I don't understand you, but there is no use to argue the case. You must submit to an arrest, and that as quickly as possible."
Wade knew that his remarks had made a telling blow, and that he now had an equal advantage.
"I will not submit," he replied coolly, "and if you do not leave without further request I shall have this entire country on to you in less time than an hour—even before you could get three miles down the road." Turning to Rover, Wade said, "Go home, quick, and give the alarm." The good old, well-trained dog, seeming to understand, galloped off in the direction indicated by Wade's pointing finger, while the officers looked after him anxiously. The mark had been struck, however, and the officers, thinking it a good time to depart, said, "We'll get you a little later, old boy." With this they galloped off toward Guthrie.
The man whom Wade had defied was no other than the assistant officer who accompanied the warehouse man out that fateful night when Fred Conover was so wantonly murdered. Wade had recognized him, and used the knowledge to his own good, and to save himself from the jail at that time.
Thoughtfully Wade made his way slowly up the road toward Judson's home, where he told of what had just happened.
"That," said Peter, "is the work of Al Thompson, shore. He's to the back of it. Seein' as how he couldn't fetch us fair and square with a bullet, he's made up his mind ter git us any way he kin. Apt's not, ef ther truth was known, he shot Franklin in ther back hisself, so's ter say we done it. Hit looks kinder like he was after you specially, Wade, cause he hain't got no right ter know that ye were out last night unless he seed ye or heerd ye a-talkin', or seed Tom's hoss, one t'other. Ef he didn't, he's a-playin' a sneakin' game, that's what. Well, I see I cain't git 'bout, fer awhile, on account o' this hyar finger bein' a little sore, an' Tom, he's walkin' 'bout a little now, an' you an' him'll hafter kinder keep things a-goin'—keep 'em warm till I git so I kin shoot agin. Ye needn't be afeerd o' them officers a-comin' back agin. They won't do that. Only 'cause ye air putty nigh a stranger hyar that they ever tackled ye 'tall. Thay won't tackle a feller what knows, that's shore. They're skeered o' their shadders, that's what they air."
Old Peter quit talking long enough to put out a plug of tobacco as large as his fist to be replaced with another equally as large, and continued:
"Now, Wade, ye've got ther best of one man anyway, an' I reckon ye better keep ther knife thar a little while. Hit'll do us all good some time, an I reckon ye better not go a-fishin' ter-day, 'cause Al Thompson'll turn ther mountain over ter do us up. I seed Frank Buckalew ter-day, an' told him how things was a-goin', an' he said he'd fix things warm over t'other side, an' he'll do it, too. He's my cousin, an' as good a fighter as ever carried a gun over ther mountain, I seed him kill a feller onct after the other feller had him kivered. Hit was done so quick he never know'd what struck him."