The Sheriff's Son
monition of evil stirred. His hand fell limply. Why had this man come out of the dead past to seek him? His panic-stricken eyes clung as though fascinated to those of Ryan.
"Do you mean … that you were a rustler?"
Ryan looked full at him. "You 've said it. I was a wild young colt thim days, full of the divil and all. But remimber this. I held no grudge at Jack Beaudry. That's what he was elected for—to put me and my sort out of business. Why should I hate him because he was man enough to do it?"
"That's not what some of your friends thought."
"You 're right, worse luck. I was out on the range when it happened. I 'll say this for Hal Rutherford. He was full of bad whiskey when your father was murdered. … But that ended it for me. I broke with the Huerfano gang outfit and I 've run straight iver since."
"Why have you come to me? What do you want?" asked the young lawyer, his throat dry.
"I need your help."
"What for? Why should I give it? I don't know you."
"It's not for mysilf that I want it. There's
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