"Legal advice!" the lawyer snorted. "What good is that in a county that doesn't know Blackstone from Doctor Whu's bitter-root almanac?" He swung on the jailer who stood with his chin within a foot of the cell door. "What are you snooping around here for? Get back to the end of the corridor and stay there!"
"I know my duty—"
Rounds cut him off impatiently. "If you interfere with my privileges again I'll put a contempt charge against you. Vamoose!" He watched the jailer slowly retreat, at the same time winking to Lin. The jailer slammed the corridor door and announced as he descended the stairs, "I'm a-going to see about this when the judge gets back."
"When he gets back," Rounds retorted. His belligerence fell from him, and he dropped his voice. "Lin, my boy, you don't need legal advice. That's a feeble prop under the circumstances. What you need is something to get you out of here in a hurry."
"That bad?" Lin said.
The lawyer's eyes clouded. "I know more about crooked politics than you do, amigo mio. And I can read the signs of the hour pretty clearly. Damn them!"
"What's got you so steamed up?"
The lawyer smiled in a sad, wistful manner. "I hate to see a man—any man—railroaded. If I was just free—" He checked himself and shook his head. For quite some time he was silent, watching Ballou as if attempting to find words to express what he felt. "Been friends for a mighty long spell, haven't we?"
"Something," Lin said, "is sure under your skin."
"More than you know. Listen, old boy, I know what they've charged you with and I know Offut's the man who brought you in. But that doesn't make you crooked. You can't be crooked. It just isn't in you. Oh, I'm not denying that there's plenty of crookedness in the world —and you'd be surprised if you knew just who-all had a hand in the grafting going on right now—but you're as straight as a string. I'd stake my left hand on it."
Ballou felt a little embarrassed. "Run that heifer into the pen," he said.
"I wish," Rounds said, toying with his watch charm "I could make a fight for you. But—" Here his words died. For a lawyer he found it difficult to say what he wished. "Point is, I've got to make a trip to Portland right away. Try to arrange for—for something to tide the irrigation affairs over." He looked down the corridor and crowded his body up to the cell door. His hand went into his coat and came out with a revolver, butt first. He passed it through the grating. "Take it, kid, and hide it."
Lin's hand gripped the gun. It vanished. "I feel a sight better right now," he admitted.
Rounds stepped away, a half smile on his face, the hazel eyes moving strangely. He put his hand through the bars. "You won't see me again for a spell. So long, Lin. Remember me in your prayers."
Liu gripped the slim, aristocratic hand. Rounds walked quickly dowoi the hall and the door closed behind him.
The long and turbulent afternoon drew to a close. Powder began to resume its normal quietude, with the settlers driving away one by one. But Lin, watching the small vista of the street in front, noticed more cowpunchers than usual floating slowly back and forth. That would have given him no particular cause for speculation had he not discovered another fact. Most of these men were from the Double Jay, James J. Lestrade's outfit.
Where there's a smoke there's got to be a fire, he thought It's high time I did something. Let's see, now. I've got a gun, and that changes the caged canary's warble a little. It's about three jumps to the back end of the livery stable. Once I sifted out of here I might be able to lift a horse from its stall without too much attention. Well, I ought to be able to tie old Sourface in a knot, first off. That's not going to be hard. Same with the stable hand, if there's only one hanging around. Time enough to get away in, when dark comes. Then what? No use breaking jail unless...
He sat on his bunk and rolled one cigarette after another, worrying the problem around in his mind. Dusk fell and the jailer brought his supper. Some time later the man came back for the tray and issued a lugubrious statement. "The law's a powerful instrument, young fellow. But sometimes there's a miscarriage of justice. All I got to say is, I wish I didn't have such a doggoned big responsibility. If trouble comes I ain't going to risk my skin for a cattle rustler." With which he slid away, slamming the corridor door behind him more vigorously than usual.
Another indication of how the wind blows, Ballou decided. All right, I'll get going.
But other actors were moving about in the darkened streets of Powder. Before Lin Ballou could make his move, another man quietly and secretly sent a messenger to draw the jailer away from the courthouse. That accomplishment behind him, he slipped into the back door of the courtroom and started upstairs to the cell.
CHAPTER VIII
THE KILLING
Lin Ballou had heard the jailers voice rise in a protest and a little later he saw the man, accompanied by another, cross the street and stand for an instant in the light shining out of Sharp's restaurant. Hardly had the pair vanished when he was aware of a sound in the courtroom below. A heavy body came slowly up the stairs. The corridor door stood fast under an exploring arm, and then the lock turned and the intruder advanced down the hall. Ballou drew his gun and stepped into the darkest corner of the cell, waiting for trouble. But when a massive pair of shoulders appeared before the grating and a great head stooped a little to peer in—outlined faintly by the dim light coming through the corridor window—he dropped the point of the gun and moved quickly to the door. W. W. Offut's voice summoned him.
"Lin, you step close where I can talk."
Ballou made a protest. "You shouldn't have come, Mr. Offut. If anybody sees you it'll be a dead giveaway."
"Things are narrowing to a point," the cattleman replied. "Had to do it. I made a turn through the back of the building into the rear door. Don't think I was watched. If I was it doesn't cut such a figure, at this stage of the game. You've got to make a break for it."
"Trouble?"
"Lot of Double Jay boys on the street and a few other ranch hands. Smell trouble. Best you should get out of the way before they try something. I wouldn't want to have to rescue you before the crowd and reveal the true situation. We're not ready for it yet—unless you discovered something in the mesa. Did you?"
Lin did not answer this directly, but asked a question of his own. "Who put you up to making the raid?"
"Jim Lestrade. He certainly slid it over on me. I didn't have any idea I was going to trap you, and he wouldn't say who gave him the information. Guess maybe he was just taken in by appearances."
"No he wasn't," Ballou said. "That was a deliberate move of his. I can't prove it, Mr. Offut, but I'm willing to take oath he's the man you and I and the rest of the committee are trying to uncover."
Offut turned the information over in his mind and ended by saying mildly, "That's a serious charge, Lin. What makes you think it?"
"Listen. I deliberately put myself in the way of being seen the other day. You know I've been trying to get somebody to swallow that hook for a month. Well, the Chattos bit. Made an offer for me to join 'em. I did." He leaned forward, waggling his finger to stress his information. "When you corraled me the Chattos got away clear. Why did they get away clear? Because they meant to have me fall in the trap alone. Beauty even lit a cigarette as a sort of signal—"
"I saw that," Offut interposed. "Mighty careless, I thought."
"Careless, nothing. It was a part of their plan. By the time you men closed in they'd ridden a mile off. That's why you didn't catch 'em. Now they couldn't have done that unless somebody in the valley had made all the arrangements. Who made those arrangements? Figure it for yourself."
"Jim Lestrade," Offut said.
"Sure. Those cattle we were hazing