little act of charity. Isn't it pretty clear who that particular man is?"
Offut sighed. "Somehow I had a suspicion it was a neighbor of mine—but I didn't reckon it would hit so close to home as Jim Lestrade." After a long interval he spoke in a cold, brusque manner. "Well, I've had to hang neighbors of mine before this—men I thought mighty good friends. Guess I can do it again. But we can't do anything without evidence. I will not lynch. We've got to get facts a jury can understand. They didn't let you in on anything, did they?"
"The Chattos are mighty clever. If I could have got hold of some branding irons, or if I'd been left alone until they started blotting out the old marks, I could have had something definite."
"Just can't see why either the Chattos or Lestrade should want you out of the road," Offut said.
"I've been thinking about that. It's either because they wanted to get somebody to take all the blame for rustling and thereby leave the land free for themselves again, or else it's because Lestrade knows I'm against his water project. Might be either, and sometimes I think it's a little of both."
A crowd of men passed beneath the courthouse, raising their voices. Ballou stirred. "You'd better make tracks."
"You've got to get evidence," Offut said.
"Well, I've made up my mind to try some rough work. I'll bring you in two good pieces of evidence, once I part company with this bastile."
Offut's hand slipped through the grating. "Heres a key. I've had one of the boys lead the jailer off on a wild goose chase. They'll hold him for half an hour. There's a horse saddled and waiting, with a gun and belt full of cartridges hanging on the horn. It's behind the livery stable. Ten minutes after I leave, you unlock the doors and go out the back way. I can't tip my own hand too much in this right at present, but I've got three safe, close-mouthed men stationed in the shadows to cover your break, just in case there's any opposition. If you want a posse to back you up in the mesa, tell me so."
"No, that would scare the Chattos clear out of the state. But I'll ask that you have your men strung around town three-four days from now when I come riding in with my evidence. There may be opposition from the Double Jay boys."
"All right," Offut said, and Lin Ballou felt the mans eyes boring through the darkness. "Lin, I'm sorry I've had to make it seem like I mistrusted you. Folks all think you're no account. That's been hard on you and maybe lost you friends, temporarily. Just consider it necessary. A man's got to do a lot of disagreeable work in this world to chase out the crooks. Guess I've lost more sleep on that score than you."
"We'll call it even," Lin said, embarrassed.
"You'll not lose from it," Offut said in that definite, reassuring manner of his.
Without more comment he slid down the hallway, closed the last door and locked it—a protection against any possible return of the jailer or of Double Jay men trying to force the place in the intervening minutes— and let himself out the rear entrance of the court room. For so large a man, he moved very quietly through the piles of boxes and broken wagon beds, and he took an alley that led him once more to the street. Stepping into the semilighted thoroughfare he suddenly brushed the side of a man loitering nearby. He drew up sharply. A powerful arm shot out and gripped the loiterer's arm with such force as to make the man wince.
"What are you doing here, sir?" Offut demanded. Swinging him about until a ray of light fell on his face, he saw it to be Tracy of the Double Jay.
"Beg your pardon, sir," Tracy said, squirming. "Didin' mean to hit you. But it's a free street, ain't it?"
"I dislike being crowded by drunks," Offut said. "Thought you were one of them. Very sorry." He walked on.
Tracy waited until Offut had vanished, then cut across the street and through a back lot. In his speed he grew careless and struck a piece of barbwire that sent him sprawling into a pile of trash. The pain of that accident made him curse violently, but without delay he got up and went on, to come at last to the rear door of James J. Lestrade's office.
Five or six Double Jay men were standing there in the darkness, silent and formidable. One challenged him and lighted a match to identify him. Knocking on the door, he went in to face his boss.
"Well, here's a piece of news for you," he announced triumphantly. "I'm watching from the second story again and I see a shadow through the jail window that I can't make out. So I go down to the street and wait by the nearest alley entrance. And who do you suppose comes out of it?"
Lestrade motioned for the man to go on.
"W. W. Offut! He's been up to see Ballou. That's why the jailer was took off on a visit."
The force of that man's name and all that it stood for was enough to bring Lestrade out of his chair. The jovial face grew perceptibly whiter and the thick jowels seemed to sag. His first move was to stride over to the lamp and turn down the wick.
"Offut. Offut. What's that mean? My God, is he playing a game with all of us? Have we got ourselves hooked up on the wrong line? Tracy, you back out of here. If Offut's got a hand in it there's something wrong. Spread the boys around town. Post some of them back of the jail. Put another at each street end. If it's to be a try at getting loose, I'll have something to say. Watch sharp, now! If Ballou puts his head outside of that place knock him over! Somebody's got wind of what we aimed to do. Knock him over, I'm telling you. Get out of here!"
Tracy departed, gathering up the Double Jay men as he went.
Lestrade mopped a handkerchief over his face, which glistened with fine beads of sweat. He did not lack physical courage, but he understood too well the driving strength of W. W. Offut. That man stood like a beacon in the affairs of the valley. His lifelong code had been honesty. Throughout the state he was known as one who, once embarked on the trail of an outlaw, never took a backward step. There was something quite grim and terrible about the inflexibility of his will that pierced even the toughest hides.
They can't prove anything on me, he thought, staring through the dark room. Not so long as the Chattos keep their mouths shut. And they won't do anything else unless they figure to hang themselves. As for Ballou, he can't prove a thing, even though he knows the Chattos and me are neck and neck, which I doubt. But for safety's sake we'll have to take care of him. If he don't break, we'll have to finish the lynching job we started. Now, in regards to Mr. Dan Rounds...
He took his revolver out of the desk drawer and thrust it into the holster, after which he buckled on the belt. The inquisitive Tracy, watching from his vantage point earlier in the afternoon, had seen the lawyer's arm carry something through the grating to Lin Ballou. This fact, when reported to Lestrade, only strengthened the cattleman's belief in the uncertain mind of the lawyer. He had judged Rounds, some time before, as one who was not quite dishonest enough to be trusted.
Rounds meant to betray him, he knew. And there was one witness he couldn't let live.
He stepped from his office under the cloak of darkness and crossed the sheet. Considering the affair from all angles, he decided he had not been fortunate in the choice of his confederates. Steele had double-crossed him too, running off with the project's money, although Lestrade knew that this defalcation really aided his scheme. It broke the settlers that much sooner and it placed the blame on the shoulders of another than his own. Nevertheless, he had been betrayed, and the settlers, as they came into town, had linked him with Steele in their accusations. Decidedly, times were getting dangerous.
"We've got just a few chores to do before we pull freight," he muttered, looking across the way to Dan Rounds' office.
The light therein burned brightly, and he saw the lawyer seated at the table, writing rapidly. He was a fair mark for any gun. Lestrade, concealed by the shadows, leaned against a building and took preliminary aim with his revolver. Satisfied, he dropped the weapon and waited.
Lin Ballou judged the minutes as they sagged by, listening for the possible return of the jailer or some chance townsman straying into the courthouse. Dick Sharp's restaurant emitted its fitful fights through a window that was fogged with steam. Across this vista men passed and passed again, moving with a carelessness