Part 32 (1/2)

”But every man has his price,”--and Waring smiled. ”I'll make my offer; a hundred, cash.”

”Not this evenin',” said the cowboy.

Waring felt in the pocket of his flannel s.h.i.+rt. ”I'll go you one better.

I'll make it a hundred, cash, and this to boot.” And his arm straightened.

Pete started back. Waring's hand was on the table, the fingers closed.

His fingers slowly opened, and a crumpled piece of paper lay in his palm. The cowboy's lips tightened. His eyes s.h.i.+fted from Waring to Starr, and then back again.

Mrs. Starr, who could not understand the strange silence of the men, breathed hard and wiped her forehead with her ap.r.o.n.

”Read it!” said Waring sharply.

The cowboy took the piece of paper, and, spreading it out, glanced at it hurriedly.

”This ain't for me,” he a.s.serted.

”Did you ever see it before?”

”This? No. What have I got to do with the sheriff's office?”

”Pete,” said Waring, drawing back his hand, ”you had better read that note again.”

”Why, I--Pete can't read,” said Mrs. Starr. ”He can spell out printed reading some, but not writing.”

”Then how did you know this paper was from the sheriff's office?”

queried Waring.

The cowboy half rose.

”Sit down!” thundered Waring. ”Who sent you with a note to Pat last Wednesday?”

”Who said anybody sent me?”

”Don't waste time! I say so. That broken shoe your cayuse cast says so, for I trailed him from my ranch to the line fence. And you have said so yourself. This paper is not from the sheriff's office. It's a tax receipt.”

The cowboy's face went white.

”Honest, so help me, Mr. Waring, I didn't know the Brewster boys was after Pat. Bob he give me the paper. Said it was from the sheriff, and I was to give it to Pat if you weren't around.”

”And if I happened to be around?”

”I was to wait until you was out with the fence gang--”

”How did you know I would be out with them?”

”Bob Brewster told me you would be.”