“Isn't this the court? Aren't you the Mayor of Fairdale?” interrogated Duane. His voice was clear and loud, almost piercing.
“Yes,” replied Longstreth. Like flint he seemed, yet Duane felt his intense interest.
“I've arrested a criminal,” said Duane.
“Arrested a criminal!” ejaculated Longstreth. “You? Who're you?”
“I'm a ranger,” replied Duane.
A significant silence ensued.
“I charge Snecker with assault on Laramie and attempted robbery—if not murder. He's had a shady past here, as this court will know if it keeps a record.”
“What's this I hear about you, Bo? Get up and speak for yourself,” said Longstreth, gruffly.
Snecker got up, not without a furtive glance at Duane, and he had shuffled forward a few steps toward the Mayor. He had an evil front, but not the boldness even of a rustler.
“It ain't so, Longstreth,” he began, loudly. “I went in Laramie's place fer grub. Some feller I never seen before come in from the hall an' hit Laramie an' wrestled him on the floor. I went out. Then this big ranger chased me an' fetched me here. I didn't do nothin'. This ranger's hankerin' to arrest somebody. Thet's my hunch, Longstreth.”