Garstone whirled on him. "Lost your memory too, eh?" he sneered. "That document was dictated to me by you a few days before we started for the hills, and the signature was witnessed by two of your men, Flint and Rattray."
"Who are conveniently dead," the rancher retorted.
"I shall hold you to it, and claim one-third the value of the ranch, and the same proportion of this," Garstone replied, striking the bag beside him on the table.
"That is mine," Dover put in quietly. "We were camped on the spot where it lay when the Wagon-wheel took us by surprise. Moreover, it was put there by my father's brother, an' therefore--"
"It belongs to me," another voice broke in.
All eyes went to this new actor in the drama, a man who had been sitting unnoticed at the side of the room, chin on chest, had slouched over his brow, and apparently taking little count of the proceedings. Now he rose, leant forward, and pushed his hat back.
"Do you know me, Zeb Trenton?" he asked vibrantly.
The rancher might have been looking at an apparition. Others, too, stared in speechless amazement, for despite the absence of the unkempt white beard and long hair, they recognized the gaunt, stooping frame of Hunch, the silent woodsman of the Circle Dot. But this fierce-eyed old man was very different to the one they had known as a semi-witless vagrant.
It was a full minute before the answer came. "Rufus Dover, by God!"
"Yes, Rufus Dover, the man you drove out o' Rainbow."
"You killed my father."
"True, but not as he killed mine--by shootin' him from ambush," was the stern reply. "I met Tom Trenton the night he died; boastin' of his deed, he dared me to draw; I beat him to it--he was dead before he could pull trigger. There was no witness. You called it murder, raised the town against me, an' I had to fade. In California I was knowed as Red Rufe, made my pile, an' runnin' with a rough gang, cached it, an' sent two messages to my brother. Then a tree fell on me, an' when I recovered my mind was a blank. Years later, I drifted in to the Circle Dot, blind instinct, I reckon, for I didn't even recognize Dave. But he knew an' took care o' me. He showed me the first message I'd sent, but it recalled nothin'; the second did not reach him." He bent his piercing gaze on the sheriff, who was sitting near Maitland. "An' you know why, Foxwell."
The officer seemed to shrink into his clothes; he read danger in those accusing eyes. "He was dead when I found him," he quavered. "I on'y--"
"Stole the letter an' sold it to Trenton for that badge you disgrace," the old man finished. "Who murdered my brother Dave?"
The sheriff shivered. "I--I dunno," he said hoarsely. Sudden stepped forward. "Trenton, where did yu get that thirty-eight we found on yore saddle?"
The rancher's reply came promptly. "Bundy gave it me, just before we left for the hills; my forty-four was out of order." The puncher looked at Foxwell. "An' Bundy had it from yu; don't trouble to lie. Scratched on the stock are the letters, L.P., the initials of Lafe Potter, the Circle Dot rider whose belongings yu sold, mebbe. Dave Dover was drilled by a thirty-eight, an' the empty shell was left in plain sight, with a dottle o' baccy beside it. yu smoke a pipe, don't yu, Trenton? An' then he plants the gun on yu--the on'y one o' that calibre in the district, so far as I could learn. That was why yu wasn't keen on weighin' the bullet at the enquiry; yu knew the guilty man."
"I didn't," the sheriff protested. "I never thought o' Bundy. I figured it was--" He stopped, his frightened eyes on the owner of the Wagon-wheel.
Trenton stiffened in his chair, and his fingers closed convulsively. "you suspected me, you whelp?" he rasped. "By Heaven, if I had my strength-- The cowering wretch was not to escape. In two strides, Dan had him by the throat, his badge was torn off, and after being shaken until his teeth clashed in his jaws, he was flung on the floor.
"Get out before I tear you apart," the young man panted. "If yo're in town one hour from now, you hang."
Foxwell did not doubt it. Scrambling to his feet, he stumbled towards the door, amid the jeers and curses of the onlookers, many of whom struck at him as he passed.
"That lets you out, Trenton," Red Rufe said. "I've one thing to thank yore people for: when they clubbed me up on 01' Cloudy, they brought back my memory, though I didn't let on--for reasons. Sorry I had to make a fool o' you, Doc." *
"You didn't--I've always been one," Malachi smiled. "But I'm wiser now." His gaze was on Kate Maitland.
Rufe addressed the banker. "I'll trouble you to hand over my money."
Maitland, conscious that he was wading in deep waters, did not know what to do. He appealed to Trenton, and got a snapped, "Give it to him, of course."
It took both arms and an effort on the banker's part, but Red Rufe held it easily with one hand. "Now I'll tell you some-thin' else, Mister," he said. "The Circle Dot is also mine--Dave was on'y my manager, an' he had no power to raise cash on it. Yore mortgage ain't worth a cent." Maitland's face grew white. "But, though I don't like yore methods, the Dovers pay debts--of any sort. You'll get yores, on one condition." He bent over and whispered.
"Certainly, Mister Dover, anything you say," the banker promised eagerly, colour returning a little to his cheeks. Garstone, slumped in his chair, brow furrowed in a heavy frown, was silent. He had failed; just when all seemed secure, his edifice of fraud and treachery had toppled about his ears. But something might still be saved from the wreck. He drew himself up and looked at Trenton.
"I want my third share of the Wagon-wheel."
The rancher's clamped lips 'writhed in a bitter smile. "Better apply to Maitland," he replied. "Mebbe he'll accept yore lyin' paper. The Wagon-wheel is no longer mine."
The enormous strain to which he had subjected it was telling upon his enfeebled body. Beth, now sitting beside him, put a protecting arm about the bent shoulders.
"Don't fret, Uncle Zeb, everything will come right," she whispered.
Maitland, who appeared to have recovered his poise, spoke plainly: "I shall certainly require definite proof that the will is genuine."
One of the two strangers who had been chatting with Yorky pushed forward. He was a keen-eyed, poker-faced fellow, dressed in the fashion of the big cities.
"If it's a question of handwriting, gents, perhaps I can help," he said. "I'm a bit of an expert."
Garstone believed he had found a friend. "I shall be indebted," he replied, with a marked emphasis on the last word. On receiving the document, the unknown turned to Maitland. "You got a known specimen of the signature on this?" he enquired.
The banker fumbled among his papers. "Here is a draft which Mister Trenton signed in my presence."
The expert compared the two signatures, discussing them with his companion, who had joined him. "I guess that settlesit," he said, handed back the draft, and put the will in his pocket.
"Here, I want that," Garstone cried.
"So do the New York police,-and they want you with it," the man returned dryly. "So bad, too, that they've sent me to fetch you."
The blood drained from Garstone's face, but he made an attempt to fight the fear which possessed him. "You are making a mistake," he said. "I am Chesney Garstone--"
"Yep, that's a swell monicker," the man replied, and beckoned to yorky. "Now, son, this is the guy you wrote us about, ain't it? Tell him who he is--he 'pears to have forgotten."
"Look at that kid's face," one of the crowd whispered to his neighbour. "Nothin' you could offer him would buy this moment."
He was right; Yorky would not have sold it for the contents of Red Rufe's Cache. Pointing to Garstone, he cried shrilly, "That's the Penman--Big Fritz, forger an bank-buster. He done the Burley Bank job an' killed the night-watchman. I've seed him scores o' times in O'Toole's joint on th' Waterfront."