by Morgan Scott
CHAPTER XXV.
SETTLEMENT DAY DRAWS NEAR.
Once more Barker laughed, this time triumphantly, exultantly, for hefelt sure that Rodney Grant had trapped himself by that admission.
“I think that’s sufficient, Mr. Pickle,” he said, addressing the man.“You’ve done very well.”
“Jest wait a minute,” advised the man, holding up his hand; “I ain’tquite through yet.” He turned, with a manner intended to be impressiveand awesome, upon Rod. “My name is William Pickle,” he announced, “andI’m the deputy sheriff of this town.”
If he expected that this statement would cause the young Texan to quailor betray alarm, disappointment was his portion, for Rod remainedwholly self-possessed and undisturbed.
“Permit me, Mr. Pickle,” he said earnestly, “to inquire how myhandkerchief came into your possession. I sure think it’s about timeyou answered a few of _my_ questions.”
“You sometimes wear that handkercher tied round your neck when you’reout gunnin’—or fishin’—don’t ye?”
“I may have done so,” admitted Rodney; “but you haven’t answered _my_question. How did you come to have it?”
“’Twas found this mornin’ over on Andrew Dodd’s land, back of TurkeyHill. I guess you must have lost it there, didn’t ye?”
“I don’t think so. In fact, I’m right certain I did not, for I don’tremember having it with me to-day. I don’t know precisely where AndrewDodd’s land is located, but unless it takes in the swamp west of TurkeyHill I was not on his land to-day. I’m right curious to know whatyou’re driving at, Mr. Pickle, and I opine it’s about time for you tocome out open and frank, so that I may get your drift.”
“I cal’late, young feller, you’d better come down to Lawyer Frances’office with us and settle up with young Barker for killin’ his houndwhich you shot this mornin’.”
It was out at last. Grant, still completely self-possessed, looked theofficer straight in the eyes.
“You’ve sure got another think coming to you,” he retorted indignantly.“Not knowing anything whatever about this matter you mention, I’ll notcome to Lawyer Frances’ office and settle. I do not own a gun, and Ihaven’t had one in my hands to-day. If Barker’s dog was shot, somebodyelse did it, and you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“Of course he’ll say that,” cried Berlin; “but he caught himself foulwhen he owned up that the handkerchief was his. I found it hanging froma bush while, with Springer and Piper, I was following his tracks afterhe shot Silver Tongue. Phil and Sleuth both saw me pick thehandkerchief off the branch, and they’ll swear to it.”
Grant’s steady, unflinching eyes were fixed on Barker now, and heseemed to be trying to read the thoughts and motives of this fellow,who since his arrival in Oakdale had so persistently and venomouslyharassed him. The limits of his endurance had about been reached; thestrain was too much, and something threatened to snap. Nevertheless, hestill struggled to maintain a desperate hold on himself—struggled torestrain and master the cyclonic Grant temper, which invariably wroughthavoc when it broke loose. In his ears at that very moment seemed toecho his father’s words of warning, but the hammering of his outragedheart promised to drown those echoes into silence. Despite his outwardappearance of self-control, his voice shook a little as he said:
“You’ve never let up on me an instant, have you, Barker? Well, you surehave no idea of the dangerous ground you’re treading on. I tell you nowI can account for every minute of my time since leaving my aunt’s housethis morning, and I can prove that I didn’t shoot your dog.”
“How will you prove it?”
“By Lander. He met me at the house, and we were together all the timeuntil we returned from his camp after the storm began.”
“By Lander!” scoffed Barker. “Why, he’s the biggest liar Iknow—excepting you.”
“If you say I shot your dog, you’re a liar!”
Teeth set, fists clenched, Barker started; but Pickle’s gnarled handgripped his collar, and the deputy sheriff snapped:
“Hold on, my boy! Go slow.”
Grant had dropped his shovel, and now his face was almost as white asthe snow beneath his feet.
“Let him come,” he begged. “He may as well have it now as any time, andit’s plain he’ll never be satisfied till he gets it.”
“There won’t be no fightin’ here,” asserted Mr. Pickle, thrusting Bernback.
“If there’s any law, I’ll make him settle!” snarled Barker. “If the lawisn’t sufficient, I’ll take the matter into my own hands!”
“You’ve been piling up a right stiff account, Barker,” Rod flung back;“and on settlement day you may get all that’s coming to you in a lumpsum, which possibly will be some more than you’re looking for.”
“So you refuse to come down to Lawyer Frances’ office, do ye?”questioned the deputy sheriff. “Well, you’ll be li’ble to land in thelockup when I have the warrant to serve on ye. Come on, Barker, we’llgo see Frances and fix things up. That’s the proper way to proceed, nowthat you’re dead sartain of your ground.”
They turned back toward the village, leaving the boy from Texas gazingafter them. As their dark figures melted into the fast deepeningdarkness, Grant spoke in a low, hard tone.
“Yes, settlement day draws near, Mr. Barker, and when it arrivesthere’ll be a clean wipe-out of the account between us.”
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