"I expect I haven't got a thing to tell you that would help any," he drawled, his eye full on that of the cowpuncher.
Pesky threw away his cigarette. "All right. You're the doctor. I'll amble back, and report to the boss."
He did so, with the result that a truce was arranged.
Keller gave up his post of vantage, and came forward to surrender.
Weaver met him with a hard, wintry eye. "Understand, I don't concede your innocence. You're my prisoner, and, by God, if I get any more proof of your guilt, you've got to stand the gaff."
The other nodded quietly, meeting him eye to eye. Nor did his gaze fall, though the big cattleman was the most masterful man on the range. Keller was as easy and unperturbed as when he had been holding half a dozen irate men at bay.
"No kick coming here. But, if it's just the same to you, I'll ask you to get the proof first and hang me afterward."
"If you're homesteading, where's your place?"
"Back in the hills, close to the headwaters of Salt Creek."
"Huh! You'll make that good before I get through with you. And I want to tell you this, too, Mr. Keller. It doesn't make any hit with me that you're one of those thieving nesters. Moreover, there's another charge against you. In the Malpais country we hang rustlers. The boys claim to have you cinched. We'll see."