Buck McKee had not been idle in the days following the slaying of 'Ole Man' Terrill. Having learned that Slim and his posse had discovered only the fact that the murderer had ridden a pacing horse to the ford, McKee took full advantage of this fact. In the cow-camps, the barrooms, and at the railroad-station he hinted, at first, that a certain person every one knew could tell a lot more about the death of the old man than he cared to have known. After a few days he began to bring the name of Payson into the conversation. His gossip became rumor, and then common report. When it became known that Jack had paid off the mortgage on his ranch, Buck came out with the accusation that Payson was the murderer. Finding that he was listened to, Buck made the direct charge that Payson had killed the station-agent, and with the proceeds of the robbery was paying off his old debts.
Gathering his own men about him, and being joined by the idle hangers-on, which are to be found about every town, Buck lead his party to the ranch on the Sweetwater to accuse Jack, and so throw off, in advance, any suspicions which might attach to himself.
Fortunately, Slim happened to be at Jack's ranch at the time. When he entered the corral he found Jack's accusers and defenders rapidly nearing a battle.
Jack was taking the charges coolly enough, as he did not know what support McKee had manufactured to uphold the charges he made. Slim informed McKee he would listen to what he had to say, and if afterward he thought Jack guilty, he would place him under arrest. For all concerned it would be better to go into the house. The Sweetwater boys surrounded Jack as they followed Slim into the living-room. Lining up in opposing groups, Slim stood in the center to serve as judge and jury, with Buck and Jack at his right and left hand.
Inside the door Jack said: "Keep as quiet as you can, boys. I don't want to alarm my wife. Now what is it?"
The punchers hushed their discussion of the charge, and listened attentively to what the men most interested had to say.
"Well, darn it all," apologized the Sheriff to Jack, "it's all darn fool business, anyway. Buck here he started it."
Jack smiled sarcastically, and, glancing at McKee, remarked: "Buck McKee's started a good many things in his day—"
Buck began to bluster. He could not face Jack fairly. Already placed on the defense, when he had considered he would be the accuser, McKee took refuge in the plea of being wronged by false suspicion.
"I ain't goin'," he whined, "to have folks suspicion me of any such doin's as the killin' of 'Ole Man' Terrill. I got a witness to prove I wasn't in twenty miles of the place."
"Who's your witness?" asked Slim, in his most judicial tones.
"Bud Lane—me an' him rode over to the weddin' together—from the Lazy K, an' I was put out as not fittin' to be there, an' by that very man there that did the killin'."
The punchers had to grin, in spite of the seriousness of the occasion. Buck appeared to be deeply hurt at the unceremonious way he had been left out at the feast.
"What makes you point to me as the man?" asked Jack quietly.
"You was late gettin' to your own weddin'."
Fresno could not repress his feelings any longer. He started angrily toward McKee, but Jack and Sage-brush held him back. The others were about to follow his lead, when Slim motioned them back with the caution: "Keep out of this, boys!"
"I was late," explained Jack, "but I told you I rode around to the station to get a wedding-present I ordered for my wife—"
Jim interrupted him to substantiate the statement. Pointing to a chair, he said: "That's so. There it is, too—that there chair."
The Sweetwater outfit nodded in acquiescence, but the others looked incredulous.
Buck sneered at the defense which Jack made. "Nobody saw you over that way, did they?"
"I saw Terrill. It must have been just before he was killed. I didn't meet anybody else." Jack showed no trace of temper under the inquisition.
"Of course you saw him before he was killed—about a minute. Mebbe you didn't plug him the next minute with a .44."
The charge roused Sage-brush's fighting blood. Drawing his gun, he attempted to get a fair shot at the accuser. Fresno and Show Low grabbed him by the arms, holding him back. The foreman shouted: "There'll be some one plugged right now if you-all make another break like that."
Slim waved his hands over his head, driving the men backward, as if he were shooing away a flock of chickens.
"Easy now—easy," he drawled. "There ain't a-goin' to be nothin' doin' here, 'cept law an' justice."
Buck laughed sneeringly at the wavering of his men. He would have to do something to put more heart into them and regain the ground he had lost by his single-handed conduct of the case.
"There ain't, eh?" he asked contemptuously. "Well, it's lucky I brought some of my own outfit with me."
"Mebbe you'll need them if you get too careless with your talk," answered the unruffled Sheriff.
Turning to Jack, Slim said: "This fool thing can be settled with one word from you."
The young ranchman listened to the Sheriff earnestly. He wished to clear himself forever of all suspicion. He did not want Echo ever to hear that there was a false impression abroad that she was the wife of a slayer. "What is it?" he asked simply.
"Why, you paid off a mortgage of an even three thousan' dollars last week, didn't you?"
"Yes, what has that to do with it?" he asked.
Buck broke in at this point. Here was the strongest card that he had in his hand, and the Sheriff had played it to McKee's advantage.
"Plenty," Buck shouted. "Old Terrill was shot and killed and robbed, an' the man who did it got just three thousan' dollars."
"An' you mean to say that the boss here—" began Sage-brush, in his anger making a rush at McKee. He was held back, but the disturbance attracted Echo and Mrs. Allen from the kitchen. Echo hurried to her husband's side. He slipped his arm about her waist, and together they faced his accuser.
"All you got to say is where did you get that money," cried Buck, who had seen Dick Lane pay it to Payson, and conjectured that Payson did not dare to reveal the fact of this payment, with all the disclosure it implied.
"Why, it was paid to me by—" Then Jack stopped. He could not tell who gave him the money without revealing to Echo the return of Dick. The whole miserable lie would then come out. Echo noticed Jack's hesitancy.
"What is it—what's the matter?" she asked, in frightened tones.
"Nothing, nothing," he answered lightly, to lessen her terror.
"Hats off, everybody," commanded Slim, in deference to the presence of Echo.
"Who are these men—what's wrong?" pleaded Echo.
Buck bowed to the trembling woman, who had thrown her arms about her husband's neck.
"Nothin'," he exclaimed. "Only we want to know where your husband got the money to pay off the mortgage on this ranch."
The request seemed a very simple one to Echo. All the talk of harming Jack, the high words, the threats, could be silenced easily by her hero. Smiling into his eyes, Echo said: "Tell them, Jack."
"I can't," he faltered.
"It was paid to him by a friend," bravely began Echo. "A friend to whom he lent it some time ago."
Buck interrupted her explanation. "Then let him tell his friend's name, and where we can find him." Turning to Jack, he bullied: "Come on—what's his name?"
Jack closed his eyes to shut out the sight of his wife. In his agony he clenched his fists, until his nails sank into the flesh. "I can't tell you that," he cried, in misery.
"Of course he can't," sneered Buck, smiling evilly in his triumph.
"He can't account for himself on the night of the weddin'; he rides a pacin' horse—rode on that night; he gets three thousan' dollars paid him, and he can't tell who paid it; what's the verdict?" Buck did not wait for an answer. Raising his voice, he shouted: "Guilty."
"Damn you," bellowed Sage-brush, lunging toward him, only to be held in restraint by his associates.
"Jack! Jack! what have you to say?" begged Echo.
"Nothing," was his only answer.
"Tell him he lies!" cried Sage-brush. "Jack, we all know you—you're as white a man as ever lived, an' they ain't one of this outfit that ain't ready to die for you right now—"
"You bet!" chorused his men.
"He ain't goin' to get off like that," declared Buck. Looking confidently at his own followers, he said: "The Lazy K can take care of him."
Buck's men moved closer to him, preparing to draw their guns, if need be, and open fire on Jack's defenders.
"Look out, boss!" warned Sage-brush, at the hostile movement of Buck and his punchers.
"Hold on!" drawled the Sheriff, who, as the danger grew more real, became more deliberate in his movements. "They ain't goin' to be nothin' done here unless it's done in the law—you all know me, boys—I'm the sheriff—this man's my prisoner." Pointing to Jack, he added: "There ain't nobody goin' to take him from me—an' live."
Buck saw Jack slipping from his clutches. "You're not goin' to be bluffed by one man, are you, boys?"
"No," his punchers answered in unison, crowding toward Jack, who held up his hand and cried: "Stop! I want a fair deal, and I'll get it."
"I'll settle this thing all right. All I ask is a few words alone with my wife."
Jack clasped Echo to his breast as he begged this boon from the men who sought his life.
"No!" blustered Buck.
"Yes," ordered Slim quietly but emphatically. "Payson—you'll give me your word you won't try to escape?"
"Yes," agreed Jack.
"His word don't go with us," shouted Buck.
Slim laid his hand on the butt of his revolver, ready to draw, if necessary, to enforce his command. Buck saw the movement, and shouted to him: "Keep your hand away from that gun, Sheriff. You know I am quick on the draw." He significantly fingered his holster as he spoke.
"So I've heard tell," agreed Slim, hastily withdrawing his hand from his revolver.
Slim appeared to agree to the surrender of Jack to Buck and his punchers, permitting them to deal with him as they saw fit. He fumbled in his left-hand waistcoat pocket, pulling out a bag of tobacco and a package of rice paper. Ostentatiously he began to roll a cigarette. Then, with the quickness of a cat, his left hand was plunged in the inside right-hand pocket of his waistcoat. Grasping a revolver by the muzzle he deftly jerked it upward, and seized the handle in its flight. He covered Buck McKee before that worthy realized what had happened. With his right hand Slim pulled the weapon which swung at his hip, and aimed it at the other boys of the Lazy K. The guns moved up and down the line, backed by the Sheriff's usually mild blue eyes, coldly steady now at the call to battle.
"I'll give you a lesson in pullin' guns, though," he declared, his voice as steady as his hands. "Don't move, Buck," he warned, as McKee wavered. "Nor any others of you. I'm playin' this hand alone. Buck McKee, you've been flirtin' with a tombstone for some time. Hands up, gents," he ordered, raising the pistols significantly.
"I said GENTS," he repeated, when Buck McKee did not obey him with alacrity. The balked leader of the Lazy K outfit reluctantly held his hands aloft.
"Sage-brush!" called Slim.
"Here," answered the foreman, covering a man with his revolver.
"Parenthesis!" summoned the Sheriff.
"Here," the man of the bowlegs replied, as he drew his gun.
"Me, too," cried Fresno, while Show Low came to the front with "An' likewise here."
When the Lazy K outfit was thoroughly under subjection, Slim stepped forward and said: "Now, gentlemen, if you please. You see, this yere's my party an' I regalate it my way. Jack here gave his word to stay and face this thing out. He's a-goin' to do it. I'm responsible for him—Sage-brush, you will collect at the door sech articles of hardware as these gentlemen has in their belts—I deputize you. Gents, as you walk out the do', you will deposit yo' weapons with Mr. Sage-brush Charley—the same to be returned to you when the court sees fit and proper."
"You ain't goin' to let him—" Buck did not finish the sentence, for Slim, thoroughly aroused, shouted: "Buck McKee, if you say another word, I'm goin' to kill you. Gents, there's the door—your hosses are in the corral—get."
Preceded by some of the Sweetwater boys, the Lazy K outfit filed out, Sage-brush taking their guns as they passed him. Fresno and Parenthesis brought up the rear.
"He needn't think he'll escape. We're bound to have him," declared Buck.
"Are you goin'?" demanded Slim, his voice full of menace.
"Can't you see me?" sneered Buck.
Sage-brush relieved him of his gun as he passed, handing it to Fresno. Buck paused in the doorway long enough to lament: "Talk of hospitality. I never get in but what I am put out."
Slim watched McKee from the window until he disappeared through the gate of the corral. Then walking down to Jack, he took him by the hand.
"It'll be all right in an hour—thank you, boys," Payson assured them.
"We all know you are the whitest man on the Sweetwater," assured Sage-brush, speaking for the punchers, as they left Jack a prisoner with Slim.
Speaking in a low tone, Jim asked Jack: "Where did you get that money?"
"Don't you know?" he asked, in surprise.
"From—"
Jack nodded his head.
"I'll wait for you in the other room," said Slim.
"Maw, Polly, we all better leave 'em alone."
As the woman and the girl left the room, the old ranchman paused at the doorway, leading to the kitchen, to advise his son-in-law earnestly: "I 'low you better tell her; it's best."
The two young people were left alone in the room in which they had passed so many happy hours to face a crisis in their lives. The day which had begun sunnily was to end in darkest clouds. The awful accusation was incredible to Echo. Her faith in her husband was not shaken. Jack, she felt, could explain. But, no matter what the outcome might be, she would be loyal to the man she loved. On this point she was wholly confident. Had she not pledged her faith at the marriage altar?
"Jack?" a volume of questions was in the word. Taking her hands in his and looking searchingly in her eyes, he said:
"Before I tell you what's been on my mind these many weeks—I want to hold you in my arms and hear you say: 'Jack, I believe in you.'"
Echo put her arms about his neck and, nestling close to his breast, declared: "I do believe in you—no matter what circumstances may be against you. No matter if all the world calls you guilty—I believe in you, and love you."
Jack seated himself at the table, and drew his wife down beside him. Putting his arms about her as she knelt before him, he murmured: "You're a wife—a wife of the West, as fair as its skies and as steadfast as its hills—and I—I'm not worthy—"
"Not worthy—you haven't—it isn't—" gasped Echo, starting back from him, thinking that Jack was about to confess that under some strange stress of circumstances he had slain the express-agent.
"No, it isn't that," hastily answered Jack, with a shudder at the idea. "I've lied to you," he simply confessed.
"Lied to me—you?" cried Echo, in dismay.
"I've been a living lie for months," relentlessly continued Jack, nerving himself for the ordeal through which he would have to pass.
"Jack," wailed Echo, shrinking from him on her knees, covering her face with her hands.
"It's about Dick."
Echo started. Again Dick Lane had arisen as from out the grave.
"What of him?" she asked, rising to her feet and moving away from him.
"He is alive."
Jack did not dare look at his wife. He sat with his face white and pinched with anguish.
The young wife groaned in her agony. The blow had fallen. Dick alive, and she now the wife of another man? What of her promise? What must he think of her?
"I didn't know it until after we were engaged," pursued Jack; "six months. It was the day I questioned you about whether you would keep your promise to Dick if he returned. I wanted to tell you then, but the telling meant that I should lose you. He wrote to me from Mexico, where he had been in the hospital. He was coming home—he enclosed this letter to you."
Jack drew from his pocket the letter which Dick enclosed in the one which he had sent Jack, telling of his proposed return.
She took the missive mechanically, and opened it slowly.
"I wanted to be square with him—but I loved you," pleaded Jack. "I loved you better than life, than honor—I couldn't lose you, and so—"
His words fell on unheeding ears. She was not listening to his pleadings. Her thoughts dwelt on Dick Lane, and what he must think of her. She had taken refuge at the piano, on which she bowed her head within her arms.
Slowly she arose, crushing the letter in her hand. In a low, stunned voice she cried: "You lied to me."
Jack buried his face in his hands. "Yes," he confessed. "He came the night we were married. I met him in the garden. He paid that money he had borrowed from me when he went away."
Horror-struck, Echo turned to him. "He was there that night?" she gasped. "Oh, Jack. You knew, and you never told me. I had given my word to marry him—you, knowing that, have done this thing to me?" Her deep emotion showed itself in her voice. The more Jack told her the worse became her plight.
"I loved you." Jack was defending himself now, fighting for his love.
"Did Dick believe I knew he was living?" continued the girl mercilessly.
"He must have done so."
"Jack! Jack!" sobbed Echo, tears streaming down her face.
"What could I do? I was almost mad with fear of losing you. I was tempted to kill him then and there. I left your father to guard the door—to keep him out until after the ceremony."
Jack could scarcely control his voice. The sight of Echo's suffering unmanned him.
"My father, too," wailed Echo.
"He thought only of your happiness," Jack claimed.
"What of my promise—my promise to marry Dick? Where is he?" moaned the girl.
"He's gone back to the desert."
Over her swept the memory of the terrible dream. Dick dying of thirst in the desert, calling for her; crushed to the earth by Jack after battling the awful silence. She moved to the middle of the room, as if following the summons.
"The desert, my dream," she whispered, in awe.
"He is gone out of our lives forever," cried Jack, facing her with arms outstretched.
"And you let him go away in the belief that I knew him to be living?" accused the wife.
"What will not a man do to keep the woman he loves? Dick Lane has gone from our lives, he will never return," argued Jack.
"He must," screamed Echo. "There is a crime charged against you—he must return to prove your story as to the money—He must know through your own lips the lie that separated us."
"You love him—you love him." Jack kept repeating the words, aghast at the knowledge that Echo seemed to be forcing upon him.
"Bring him back to me." Firmly she spoke.
Jack gazed at her in fear. Chokingly he cried again: "You love him!"
"I don't know. All I know is that he has suffered, is suffering now, through your treachery; bring him back to me, that I may stand face to face with him, and say: 'I have not lied to you, I have not betrayed your trust.'"
"You love him," he repeated.
"Find him—bring him back."
Jack was helpless, speechless. Echo's attitude overpowered him.
The wife staggered again to the piano, slowly sinking to the seat. She had turned her back on him. This action hurt him more than any word she had spoken. Her face was buried in her hands. Deep sobs shook her shoulders.
Jack followed her, to take her again in his arms, but she made no sign of forgiveness. Turning, he strode to the rack, and took down his hat and cartridge-belt. Picking up his rifle, he firmly declared: "I will go. I'll search the plains, the mountains, and the deserts to find this man. I will offer my life, if it will serve to place the life you love beside you. Good-bye."
The sound of the closing of the door roused Echo to a full realization of what she had done. She had driven the one man she really loved out of her life; sent him forth to wander over the face of the earth in search of Dick Lane, for whom she no longer cared. She must bring her husband back. She must know that he alone had her heart in his keeping.
"No, no, Jack—come back!" she called. "I love you, and you alone—come back! come back!"
Before she could throw open the door and summon him back to happiness and trust, Bud, who had heard the full confession from the room in which he had taken refuge when he thought Buck would throw the blame on Jack, caught her by the arm.
"Stop!" he commanded.
"Bud Lane!" exclaimed Echo, "you have heard—"
"I've heard—my brother—he is alive!"
Bud spoke rapidly. His belief was confirmed. He would have full revenge for what his brother had suffered at Payson's hands.
To Echo's plea of "Don't stop me!" he shouted: "No!" and caught the young wife, and pulled her back from the doorway. Echo struggled to free herself, but the young man was too strong.
"He had ruined Dick's life, stolen from him the woman he loved," he hissed in her ear.
"Jack! Jack!" was her only answer.
"No, he sha'n't come back—let him go as he let my brother go, out of your life forever."
"I can't—I can't. I love him!"
Throwing Bud off, she ran to the door. Bud pulled his revolver, and cried: "If he enters that door I'll kill him."
Outside Echo heard Jack inquiring: "Echo! Echo! you called me?"
Echo laid her hand on the knob to open the door, when she heard the click of the pistol's hammer as Bud raised it.
With a prayer in her eyes, she looked at the young man. He was obdurate. Nothing could move him.
Turning, she shrieked: "No, I did not call. Go! in God's name, go!"
"Good-bye!" was Jack's farewell. The rapid beat of horse's hoofs told of his mounting and riding away.
"Gone. Oh, Bud, Bud, what have you done?"
"I should have killed him," was Bud's answer, a gazed after the retreating form galloping down trail.
Mrs. Allen, hearing Echo's calls, hastened in from the kitchen. She found her daughter sobbing at the table. "What is the matter, child?"
Then, turning to Bud, she fiercely demanded of him: "What have you been saying to her?"
"Nothin'," he replied, as he left the house.
"Oh, mother, mother!" wailed Echo. "Jack—I have sent him away."
"Sent him away," repeated the startled Mrs. Allen.
"Yes," assured Echo.
"You don't mean to say he is guilty—you don't mean—"
"No, no!" interrupted Echo. "Oh, I never thought of that—he must come back—call Dad, call Slim."
Echo had forgotten Jack's promise to Slim. He, too, in his period of stress had overlooked the fact that he was a suspected murderer. Now he had fled. He must be brought back to clear his good name.
Mrs. Allen called her husband and the Sheriff into the room.
"What's the row?" shouted the Sheriff.
"Jack's gone," cried Mrs. Allen.
In amazement the two men could only repeat the news, "Gone!"
"Gone where?" crisply demanded the Sheriff.
"Don't stand there starin'; do something," scolded Mrs. Allen.
"He gave me his word to stay and face this thing out," shouted the bewildered Slim.
"It's all my fault. I sent him away." Echo seized Slim's hand as she spoke.
"You sent him away?"
She fell on her knees before him. Lifting her hands as in prayer, she implored: "I never thought of his promise to you. He never thought of it. Go find him—bring him back to me!"
"Bring him back?" howled the excited Sheriff, his eyes bulging, his cheeks swelling, his red hair bristling, and his voice ringing in its highest key. "Bring him back? You just bet I will. That's why I'm sheriff of Pinal County."
Slim whirled out of the door as if propelled by a gigantic blast. Echo fell fainting at her mother's feet.
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