“Certainly not!” declared Carrington. “You’ve signed his death warrant this time!” Carrington watched the train glide westward, and then returned to the courthouse. He found the judge sitting at his desk, gazing meditatively at the floor. For there had been something insincere in Morton’s manner—his story of the murder had not been quite convincing—and in spite of his resentment against Taylor the judge did not desire to add anything to the burden already carried by his conscience. Carrington grinned maliciously as he halted at Littlefield’s side and laid a hand on the other’s arm. “We’ve got him, Littlefield!” he said. “Get busy. Issue a warrant for his arrest. I’ll have Danforth send you some men to serve as deputies—twenty of them, if you think it necessary!” The judge cleared his throat and looked with shifting eyes at the other. “Look here, Carrington,” he said, “I—I have some doubts about the sincerity of that man Morton. I’d like to postpone action in this case until I can make an investigation. It seems to me that—that Taylor, for all his—er—seeming viciousness, is not the kind of man to kill his partner. I’d like to delay just a little, to——” “And let Taylor get wind of the thing—and escape. Not by a damned sight! One man’s word is as good as another’s in this country; and it’s your duty as a judge of the court, here, to act upon any complaint. You issue the warrant. I’ll get Keats to serve it. He’ll bring Taylor here, and you can legally examine him. That’s merely justice!” Half an hour later, Carrington was handing the warrant to a big, rough-looking man with an habitual and cruel droop to the corners of his mouth. “You’d better take some men with you, Keats,” suggested Carrington. “He’ll fight, most likely,” he grinned, evilly. “Understand,” he added; “if you should have to kill Taylor bringing him in, there would be no inquiry made. And—” he looked at Keats and grinned, slowly and deliberately closing an eye. CHAPTER XXV—KEATS LOOKS FOR “SQUINT” Neil Norton had been attending to Taylor’s affairs in Dawes during the latter’s illness, and he had ridden to the Arrow this morning to discuss with Taylor a letter he had received—for Taylor—from a Denver cattle buyer. The inquiry was for Herefords of certain markings and quality, and Norton could give the buyer no information. So Norton had come to Taylor for the information. “The herd is grazing in the Kelso Basin,” Taylor told Norton. Norton knew the Kelso Basin was at least fifteen miles distant from the Arrow ranchhouse—a deep, wide valley directly west, watered by the same river that flowed near the Arrow ranchhouse. “I can’t say, offhand, whether we’ve got what your Denver man wants.” He grinned at Norton, adding: “But it’s a fine morning for a ride, and I haven’t done much riding lately. I’ll go and take a look.” “I’ll be looking, too,” declared Norton. “The _Eagle_ forms are ready for the press, and there isn’t much to do.”