His calmness was shaken a little toward the end of
this speech and his voice, at the close, rang sharply
at McGuire. The latter considered him from beneath
frowning brows for a moment and then, without another
word, without a glance to the others and a syllable
of adieu, turned and walked slowly, thoughtfully,
out of the room. Terry walked back to his place.
As he sat down, he noticed that every eye was upon
him, worried.
“I’m sorry that I’ve had to do so
much talking,” he said. “And I particularly
apologize to you, Pollard. But I’m tired
of being hounded. As a matter of fact, I’m
now going to try to play the part of the hound myself.
Action, boys; action is what we must have, and action
right in this county under the nose of the complacent
McGuire!”
There was no exuberant joy to meet this suggestion.
McGuire had, as a matter of fact, made his territory
practically crime-proof for so long that men had lost
interest in planning adventures within the sphere of
his authority. It seemed to the four men of Pollard’s
gang a peculiar folly to cast a challenge in the teeth
of the formidable sheriff himself. Even Pollard
was shaken and looked to Denver. But that worthy,
who had returned from the door where he was stationed
during the presence of the sheriff, remained in his
place smiling down at his hands. He, for one,
seemed oddly pleased.
In the meantime Sandy was setting forth his second
and particularly interesting news item.
“You-all know Lewison?” he asked.
“The sour old grouch,” affirmed Phil Marvin.
“Sure, we know him.”
“I know him, too,” said Sandy. “I
worked for the tenderfoot that he skinned out of the
ranch. And then I worked for Lewison. If
they’s anything good about Lewison, you’d
need a spyglass to find it, and then it wouldn’t
be fit to see. His wife couldn’t live with
him; he drove his son off and turned him into a drunk;
and he’s lived his life for his coin.”
“Which he ain’t got much to show for it,”
remarked Marvin. “He lives like a starved
dog.”
“And that’s just why he’s got the
coin,” said Sandy. “He lives on what
would make a dog sick and his whole life he’s
been saving every cent he’s made. He gives
his wife one dress every three years till she died.
That’s how tight he is. But he’s
sure got the money. Told everybody his kid run
off with all his savings. That’s a lie.
His kid didn’t have the guts or the sense to
steal even what was coming to him for the work he done
for the old miser. Matter of fact, he’s
got enough coin saved—all gold—to
break the back of a mule. That’s a fact!
Never did no investing, but turned everything he made
into gold and put it away.”
“How do you know?” This from Denver.
“How does a buzzard smell a dead cow?”
said Sandy inelegantly. “I ain’t
going to tell you how I smell out the facts about money.
Wouldn’t be any use to you if you knew the trick.
The facts is these: he sold his ranch. You
know that?”
