ffort to convince himself that
his statements were practically true, but he avoided Moran's eyes as he
did so. His show of optimism had little substance behind it, because now
that his motives were likely to be bared to the public, he was too good
a lawyer not to realize how little standing he would have before a jury,
in that section at least; of course, Wade must realize this equally well
and feel fortified in his own position. Rexhill's chief hope had been
that the support of the cavalry from Fort Mackenzie would enable him to
control the situation; but here, too, he was threatened by the
unexpected hesitation of the authorities at Washington.

Moran, however, was frankly contemptuous of the prospect of help from
that source. He had never believed greatly in it, although at the time
it was first mentioned his enthusiasm for any plan of action had
inspired him with some measure of the Senator's confidence. Now that his
lust of revenge made him intolerant of all opposition, he was thoroughly
exasperated by the telegram received from Washington, and had no faith
in aid from such a quarter.

"What if your cavalry doesn't come?" he demanded.

"Then we must rely upon the Sheriff here to maintain the law that he is
sworn to support."

"Bah! He's weakening now. He's not forgetting that he's to spend the
rest of his days in this town, after we've gone back East, or perhaps to
hell. Who's to look after him, then, if he's got himself in bad with the
folks here? Senator"--Moran clumped painfully over to the safe and
leaned upon it as he faced his employer--"it isn't cavalry that'll save
you, or that old turkey buzzard of a sheriff either. I'm the man to do
it, if anybody is, and the only way out is to lay for this man Wade and
kidnap him." Rexhill started violently. "Kidnap him, and take him into
the mountains, and keep him there with a gun at his head, until he signs
a quit-claim. I've located the very spot to hide him in--Coyote Springs.
It's practically inaccessible, a natural hiding-place."

Rexhill turned a shade or two paler as he nervously brushed some cigar
ashes from his vest and sleeve. He had already gone farther along the
road of crime than he felt to be safe, but the way back seemed even more
dangerous than the road ahead. The question was no longer one of ethics,
but purely of expediency.

"We haven't time to wait on cavalry and courts," Moran went on. "I'm
willing to take the risk, if you are. If we don't ta