“Wrong, in two ways. Hawkins was not a desperado. He was a man who was doing his best to further the cause of right and justice. Error number one for you. Whether or not he deserved the fate that overtook him, however, need command little of our attention. It was not Red Steve’s place to hand out his destiny with the point of a six-shooter. What have you done to apprehend Red Steve?” “Nothin’, and I won’t do anythin’.” “Why not? Aren’t you sworn to look after the law in this county?” “It ain’t part o’ my duty to take advice from you.” “I’m going to tell you a few things, Bloom. Red Steve works for Lige Benner, and you’ve a notion that Lige Benner wanted Ace Hawkins sponged off the slate. You’re a friend of Benner’s. You think it will please Benner if you don’t take any action against Red Steve. Probably you’re right in your surmise, but you’re ’way wrong in letting yourself be swayed by your likes and dislikes in a matter that touches upon your duty as sheriff. You’d better take my advice and help me and my pards lay Red Steve by the heels.” This was straight talk, and as logical as it was straight. Bloom knew the scout had the right end of the argument, and he hated to have the men outside hear him lectured in just that way. The scout had purposely raised his voice and spoken deliberately and clearly, in order that his words might carry, and his full meaning reach the ears of the townspeople. “Confound you and your advice!” barked Bloom. “I know what my duty is a heap better’n you, and I’m here to stand by it.” “Will you stand by your duty, in this case,” fenced the scout, “or will you stand by Lige Benner and Red Steve?” “I ain’t goin’ to tell you what I’ll do. What’s more, I’ve got enough o’ this talk.” “Then you’re going to get more than enough, Bloom, because I’m not more than half done. In shielding Red Steve you’re trying to shield Lige Benner. You’re afraid that if you press matters against Red Steve that it will be shown that Lige Benner had at least a guilty knowledge of Red Steve’s murderous intentions against Hawkins. Isn’t that it?” Steadily, relentlessly, the sheriff was being forced into a tight corner. It was like a trial. Bloom, accused of dereliction of duty, was being catechised by the scout, and the townspeople outside were the jury. Between duty and private desire the unfortunate sheriff writhed and sputtered. “I’m not going to take any more talk from you,” he shouted. “There’s a hull lot to this Red Steve matter you don’t know anything about.” “I know all about it,” declared the scout, “much more, in fact, than you do.” “How do you know Red Steve did that shooting?” “Ace Hawkins said so.” “That’s what you say,” sneered the sheriff. “There are others who heard Hawkins make his statement, and they will bear me out. Wild Bill Hickok, for one----” “He’s your pard. I wouldn’t believe him any quicker’n I’d believe you.”