“I’m not complaining. You run a good hotel, Sheriff.”
Matson looked out of the barred window at the warm sunshine flooding the yard. From where he sat he could not see the blue, unclouded sky, but he knew just how it looked. When his gaze returned to McCoy it was grave and solicitous.
“I’m going to give you straight talk, Mac. Don’t fool yourself. Shoshone County has made up its mind. The men that killed Dan Gilroy are going to hang.”
“Sounds cheerful, Aleck.”
“I’m here for the last time to ask you to come through. If you’ll give evidence for the State I can save you, Mac.”
McCoy looked straight at him from cold, bleak eyes. “We discussed this subject once before, Sheriff. Isn’t once enough?”
“No,” returned the officer doggedly. “I’ve been talking with Haight. Inside of twelve hours he’s going to get a confession out of—well, never mind his name. But the man’s weakening. He’ll come through to save his skin. Mac, beat him to it.”
The cattleman laughed without mirth. “I reckon this confession talk is come-on stuff. Even if any of the boys knew anything, he wouldn’t tell it.”
“Wouldn’t he? You ought to know that there’s always a weak link in every chain. In every bunch of men there’s a quitter.”
“So you’re offering me the chance to be that quitter. Fine, Aleck! You’ve got a high opinion of me. But why give me the chance? By your way of it, I led the raid. There was bad blood between me and Tait. I outfitted some of the boys with guns, you say. According to your theory, I’m the very man that ought to be hanged.”