"I lend heem eet."
"You loaned him money?" roared the trail-boss. "That's likely! Why did he give it to you?"
Miguel shrugged his shoulders and did not answer.
McCullough jerked him half around and pointed to Hopalong. "This man here saw you sneakin' from Kane's south stable with a smokin' Sharp's in yore hand after you shot Ridley. Trask says you did it. Is this all Kane gave you for that killin'?"
"I could no help," protested Miguel, squirming in the trail-boss' grip. "W'en Kane he say do theese or that theeng, I mus' do eet. I no want to but I mus'."
McCullough whirled around and faced Corwin. "That story you told me down in th' bunkhouse that night about how Bill Long shot Ridley is near word for word what Bill says about th' Greaser, an' Trask's story backs him up. How did you come to know so much about it? Come on, you coyote; spit it out! Who told you what to say?" Corwin's silence angered him and he showed his teeth. "There's a lynchin' waitin' for you in town, Corwin, if you don't stop it by speakin' up. Who told you that?"
Corwin looked away. "Miguel," he muttered. "I told you I was hopin' to get th' real one."
"He lie! I never say to heem one word!" shouted the Mexican. "He lie! Kane, he was the only one who know like that beside me!"
"Stand up, Sheriff!" snapped McCullough. He searched the sullen prisoner and found two rolls of bills. Going quickly over them he removed and grouped certain of them, and then compared them with his list. "There's
