"No. I didn't know it. I been sleepin' here. How in the devil would I know?" "Gosh! Then he must've got out without no help, unless be bribed Slim Peasley." "Where is he now?" "I dunno. I jest heard a while ago in one of the saloons that he was loose. Peasley acted real upset about it." Surprisingly, Bryant made no further comment. Wallie waited a moment longer, then turned and opened the door. "Good night, Uncle Bryant," he said. Bryant said nothing. The door closed, and the old man sat there for fully five minutes, muttering unintelligibly. Then he rose and would have blown out the candle, but he was halted by a voice from the window. "Stay right where you are and don't yell." The Lone Ranger stepped easily over the low windowsill and into the room, as Bryant Cavendish turned. Chapter XXI AN ADMISSION FROM BRYANT CAVENDISH A close-range view of Bryant Cavendish fulfilled everything the Lone Ranger might have expected from what he had heard about him. His face looked as if it had been chopped out of a block of granite. His eyes, small, deep-set, were the coldest, hardest eyes that he had ever seen. They were the eyes of a man who would die before he would forgive a wrong; a man who had lived with hate. Bryant showed not the slightest trace of fear. Even in his undershirt he could look haughty and arrogant. He met the steady gaze of the masked man, his mouth clamped hard-shut. "Cavendish," began the Lone Ranger in a low but very decisive voice, "I've come a long way to talk to you." There was no reply. "First of all, what do you know about the murder of some Texas Rangers in Bryant's Gap?" There was no change in the older man's expression. His chin lifted just the slightest bit, but he said nothing. Neither did he nod or shake his head. "There are men working for you who are wanted by the law," continued the Lone Ranger. "Six Texas Rangers went through the Gap to arrest men you know as Sawtell, Rangoon, Lonergan, and Lombard. Those Rangers were ambushed. Did you know that?" Cavendish spoke. His voice was scarcely more than a whisper, but the intensity of it, the suppressed emotion that was dripping from his words, seemed to make the ends of the masked man's nerves vibrate. "You--" he said. "Git!" "Not yet, Cavendish; we have a lot of things to talk about." The Lone Ranger moved nearer to the flint-faced Bryant and sat down, facing the open window, with his back against the door.