Old Nomad’s gorge was rising. The sheriff was a coyote, and Buffalo Bill was putting up with too much from him. He made an attempt to slip in a few words, but the scout looked toward him and waved him to silence. “There’s the sky pilot, Jordan,” went on the scout. “He’ll back up my statement. I reckon there’s not a man on the Brazos who would refuse to believe the sky pilot.” This statement rather floored the sheriff. “When the sky pilot talks to me,” said he, “then I’ll know what to think, but----” Just here the door opened at old Nomad’s back. He turned quickly to deny the newcomer entrance, but recoiled when he saw who was coming into the office. “Benner!” exclaimed old Nomad, wondering what this new move was to signify. “Benner!” cried Bloom, jumping to his feet. Benner pushed on into the room and came to a halt within a short distance of the scout. “Yes, Benner,” said the cattle baron. “I’ve come here to say that Buffalo Bill is right. Red Steve was the man who did the trick for Ace Hawkins. Is that enough for you, Bloom?” The scout was surprised by this totally unexpected coming of Lige Benner--surprised, perhaps, far more by his appearance and his words than by the mere fact of his presence. There was a haggard, careworn look in Benner’s face--an earnestness in his manner that contrasted strongly with his spectacular attire. If the scout was surprised by Benner’s words, the sheriff seemed even more so. He stared. “Come again with that, Benner,” said he. “I’ve been standing outside listening to what was going on in here,” continued Benner. “The time came when I thought I ought to take part in the talk. Red Steve is guilty of shooting Ace Hawkins. I had nothing to do with the crime, and knew nothing about it until it was accomplished. Both men worked for me. Red Steve himself told me he was guilty, and tried to find excuse for what he had done by saying that Ace Hawkins was a traitor, that he was working for me and trying to help Perry and Dunbar. That, of course, was no excuse at all. I told him he would have to come to Hackamore and stand trial. It was my intention to bring him myself, but he escaped on foot from the ranch and, at the present moment, is somewhere on the Brazos, a fugitive. I rode to town to get you to take up the pursuit of Red Steve. It’s up to you, Bloom.” Lige Benner dropped wearily into a chair and drew one hand across his forehead. Bloom continued to stare at him, Nomad regarded him with suspicion, and only the scout--adept at reading motives in a man’s face--gave him approval. “That’s the talk, Benner!” the scout exclaimed. “Don’t ye bank too much on his tork, Buffler,” put in the old trapper. “Lige Benner is tricky; he’s showed himself ter be a snake in the grass right along; an’ how d’ye know he ain’t got somethin’ up his sleeve right now? Don’t give him a chance ter trap ye.” Benner flung himself around in his chair, but the fierce protest faded from his face as he looked at Nomad.