“You derned buttinsky!” spat out Tolley vengefully. “Mind what you are doing, or you’ll stop lead.” “That will not make a lie the truth, Mr. Tolley,” rejoined Hunt, now squarely between the group of desperadoes and Joe Hurley’s position. “You mean to say I’m a liar?” blustered Tolley. “I mean to say that the story you have repeated about the young woman and the man you say has disappeared has no foundation in fact and that you have in your possession no proof to back your statement. If that is calling you a liar, Mr. Tolley, then consider yourself so called!” There was a little stir among the listeners at the tables—a stir of approval, and one voice ejaculated: “What’s it all about?” Evidently not all of these men now present had been at hand when Smithy had taken offense at Tolley’s words earlier in the evening which precipitated this situation. Hunt, without raising his voice at all, continued: “I take it that you have no new evidence of a crime having been committed? You did not see the man fall? You merely saw the young woman at the summit of the declivity? Later you recovered a saddle you recognized from the fallen rubbish? Am I right? Isn’t that the extent of your evidence?” “Well! Look yere! I reckon I know what I am talkin’ about——” “But you do not talk about what you know,” interposed Hunt. “To my personal knowledge—and that of Mr. Hurley—the missing man was not buried under that heap of rubbish with his horse.” “Then he went into the river!” cried Tolley. Here Joe Hurley put in a very pungent word: “And that might easily be true. If you found his horse and removed the saddle, you might have found the man, too, Tolley, and removed some of his harness.” “What’s that?” was the startled demand. “From the first,” Joe said sternly, “I suspected you, Tolley. Your dust won’t hide what you have done. You are altogether too sure the man is dead—after first reporting that you had heard from him in Denver. “In fact, you are too anxious to cast suspicion on another person. Your conscience—if you have such a thing—is troubling you, Tolley. At least, your fears have made you try to invent a lie that doesn’t work out just the way you expected it to.” “I’ll show you——” “You’ll show me nothing, Tolley!” retorted Hurley. “You’ll listen—and these other gentlemen. You got the man’s saddle. It is just as probable that you found his body, as well as that of the horse. And he was known to wear a money-belt around his waist. He was likewise known to be well-fixed when he left Canyon Pass. He’d been doing well here. You knew it, if anybody did. You confess that you rode after the man. And you confess that you got his saddle. Confess the rest of it, you dog. What else have you got in your safe that belonged to——”