The rider dismounted. Billy heard him rattle the latch of the door.

"Don't shoot!" he heard him say in an agonized whisper. "Don't shoot, for Gawd's sake!"

Billy, watching at the window, saw the man in the room fling open the door. For an instant the tall and hatless form of Judge Driver showed black against the expanse of snow framed in the doorway. Again came the plea for mercy--a whisper no longer, but a wild cry of "Don't shoot! Don't shoot! It's me! Driver!" as the judge, realizing only too well that any such outcry was tantamount to a confession of guilt, plunged into the room. Obviously his purpose was to escape the fire of the avenging rifles that he had every reason to believe were somewhere in the brush along the draw. He was acting precisely as Billy had reckoned he would act, and there was not the slightest danger of Billy or any of his men shooting him. But a very real danger lay behind the ranch house door. The judge's only chance lay in convincing the man behind the door in time.

He convinced him. The man yanked him roughly into the room and slammed the door shut.

"Thank Gawd! Thank Gawd!" babbled the judge, sinking back against the door, "I thought you'd shoot me!"

"I d.a.m.n near did," remarked the man, whose voice Billy now recognized as that of a late arrival in town, named Slike. "If you hadn't jerked your hat off so's I could see your face, I would have. When will Wingo get here, and didja get him to come by himself all right? Huh? Why don't you answer? Whatsa matter? Isn't he coming or what? By Gawd, _you're wearing his clothes_! Where is he?"

"He's here!" gurgled the judge.

"Where?" Slike's voice was a terrible snarl.

"Here--up on the flat."

Slike promptly seized the judge by the throat. "Then you led him here.

What are you trying to do--double-cross me?"

"No, no!" gulped the judge, pulling at the other's wrists. "I couldn't help it! He forced me to come!"

"Then you did lead him here, d.a.m.n your soul! You white-livered cur, do you think I'm gonna hang on your account? What did you tell him?

Answer me, d.a.m.n you!"

To the accompaniment of a string of most ferocious oaths, Slike shook the judge as the terrier shakes the rat. The judge fought back as best he could. But he was no match for this man of violence. Tiring at last, Slike flung him on the floor and kicked him.

"I'd oughta stomp you to death!" he squalled. "What did you tell him?"

"Nothing! Nothing!" cried the judge. "He must have guessed it!"

Dan Slike laughed. It was a laugh to make you flinch away. The hair at the base of Billy Wingo's neck lifted like the hackles of a fighting dog.

"Guessed it!" yelped Slike. "Guessed it! Aw right, let it go at that.

How far away is he?"

But the judge had his cue by now. "He's two or three miles back," he said faintly. "If you start now you can get away."

"You know d.a.m.n well there's too much snow," snapped Slike. "How many's he got with him?"

"One--two."

Slike kicked the judge in the short ribs. "How many? Tell the truth!"

"Tut-two."

"Three in all, huh? and you and me are two--say one man and a half, anyway. Two to one call it. What's fairer than that, I'd like to know? We'll finish it out in the smoke right now."

"What?" There was considerably more than pained incredulity in the judge's tone.

"We'll shoot it out with 'em here, I said. I ain't kicked all the fighting blood out of you, have I? If I have I can soon kick it in again. Here, come alive, you lousy pup! Get the gun off that feller I downed. It's on his leg yet. His Winchester is over there in the corner. It's loaded, and there's two boxes of cartridges on that shelf. Bring 'em all over here. Then you take that window and I'll take this one. We'll give 'em the surprise of their young lives. Get a wiggle on you, Judge. You've got a brush ahead of you. Fight? You can gamble you'll fight! It's you or them, remember!"

"Suppose he comes bustin' in the back way?" quavered the judge, perceiving that he had indeed fallen between two stools.

"We'll try to take care of him. But he'll come the other way, I guess."

But Slike guessed wrong, for Billy Wingo, judging that the psychological moment had arrived, shoved his gun hand through a window pane and shouted, "Hands up!"

"You dirty Judas!" yelled Slike and, firing from the hip, he whipped three shots into the judge before he himself fell with four of Billy Wingo's bullets through his shoulder and neck.

Shot through and through, Judge Driver dropped in a huddle and died.

Slike, supporting himself on an elbow, mouthed curses at the man who he believed had betrayed him. The murderer's supporting arm slid out from under and he collapsed in a dead faint, even as Billy Wingo, with window gla.s.s cascading from his head and shoulders, sprang into the room.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

OPEN AND SHUT

"Well," said the district attorney, "you can't hold this man on any such biased evidence as this."

"But you see I am holding him," pointed out Billy Wingo.

"They'll get him out on a writ of habeas corpus."

"They? Who's they?"

"His friends. I suppose the man has friends."

"Oh, yes," acquiesced Billy, "the man has friends. Too many friends."

The district attorney looked away. "You'd better let him escape--or something," he suggested brazenly. "We--we mustn't be made ridiculous, you know."

"We? We? Don't get me mixed up with you, Rale. I'm particular who I bracket with, sort of. Another thing, the last time you were in here you went out on your head, remember. Well, lemme point out that you're here, I'm here, so's the door, and history is just the same thing over again."

The close-set little eyes wavered. "I tell you, Wingo, the case looks black for you too."

Billy Wingo rolled and lit a placid cigarette before he spoke. "Black?

For me?" Inquiringly.

"I'm afraid so."

"You mean you hope so. Go on."

"There are a great many strange things about the whole affair. For instance, why was Judge Driver wearing your clothes when the bodies were found? If, as you say, you saw the whole thing, why did you not prevent the murder? How do we know that you did not kill both Tom Walton and the judge and then lay the blame on this stranger?"