f this horrible suspicion was correct it only
proved the desperate character of those against whom I contended. And
if true only the harshest measure would compel Coombs to acknowledge
the truth. I drew in my breath, every nerve braced for action. Then I
jerked the revolver from my pocket, and held it, glimmering ominously
in the light, across my knee.

"You probably have some reason for lying to me," I said coldly, "and
now I am going to give you an equally good reason for telling the
truth. What do you know about the administrators of this estate?"

He was breathing hard, his eyes on the shining barrel.

"There is one named Neale, is n't there?"

"I--I reckon so."

"How do you know?"

"Wal," feeling it useless to struggle against the argument presented by
the blue steel barrel, "Hell, all I know is a fellow com' 'long yere a
while back with a paper signed Neale, thinkin' ter take my job."

"What happened to him?"

"Oh, he just nat'ally got kicked out inter the road, an' I reckon he 's
a running yet. He was a miserable Yankee runt, an' I did n't hurt the
cuss none to speak of. What yer askin' all this fer enyhow," he
questioned anxiously, "an' a drawin' that gun on me?"

"It seemed to be the only available method for extracting information.
Pardon my insistence, Coombs, but was n't that dead man up there the
fellow Neale sent?"

"Not by a damn sight," and I could see the perspiration break out on
his forehead. "Why, there wan't none enyhow. That guy skipped out
North agin."

"All right; we'll let it go this time. Now one more question and I am
done. Under whose orders are you in charge here?"

He was so long in answering, his eyes glaring ugly under heavy brows,
that I elevated my weapon, half believing he meditated an attack.

"You 've got to answer, Coombs," I said sternly, "or take the
consequences. I 'm in dead earnest."

Suddenly I became aware that his glance was not directly upon me, and I
lifted my own eyes to the surface of the tarnished mirror behind where
he sat. It reflected the large portrait of the late Judge Henley
hanging on the opposite wall, and--by all the gods!--I thought I saw it
move, settle back into position! I was upon my feet instantly,
swinging aside into a better situation for defense. Perhaps that
seeming movement, swift and elusive, might be a figment of imagination,
a mere trembling of the glass. But I was taking no chances. The very
conception of some h