Colonel Starbottle for a moment regarded Corbin critically. In spite of his chivalrous attitude towards the homicidal faculty, the Colonel was not optimistic in regard to the baser pecuniary interests of his fellow-man. It was quite on the cards that his companion might have murdered his partner to get possession of the claim. It was true that Corbin had voluntarily assumed an unrecorded and hitherto unknown responsibility that had never been even suspected, and was virtually self-imposed. But that might have been the usual one unerring blunder of criminal sagacity and forethought. It was equally true that he did not look or act like a mean murderer; but that was nothing. However, there was no evidence of these reflections in the Colonel's face. Rather he suddenly beamed with an excess of politeness. "Would you--er--mind, Mr. Corbin, whilst I am going over those letters again, to--er--step across to my office--and--er--bring me the copy of 'Wood's Digest' that lies on my table? It will save some time."
The stranger rose, as if the service was part of his self-imposed trouble, and as equally hopeless with the rest, and taking his hat departed to execute the commission. As soon as he had left the building Colonel Starbottle opened the door and mysteriously beckoned the bar-keeper within.
"Do you remember anything of the killing of a man named Frisbee over in Fresno three years ago?"
The bar-keeper whistled meditatively. "Three years ago--Frisbee?--Fresno?--no? Yes--but that was only one of his names. He was Jack Walker over here. Yes--and by Jove! that feller that was here with you killed him. Darn my skin, but I thought I recognized him."
"Yes, yes, I know all that," said the Colonel, impatiently. "But did Frisbee have any PROPERTY? Did he have any means of his own?"
"Property?" echoed the bar-keeper with scornful incredulity.
"Property? Means? The only property and means he ever had was the free lunches or drinks he took in at somebody else's expense. Why, the only chance he ever had of earning a square meal was when that fellow that was with you just now took him up and made him his partner. And the only way HE could get rid of him was to kill him!
And I didn't think he had it in him. Rather a queer kind o' chap,--good deal of hayseed about him. Showed up at the inquest so glum and orkerd that if the boys hadn't made up their minds this yer Frisbee ORTER BEEN killed--it might have gone hard with him."
"Mr. Corbin," said Colonel Starbottle, with a pained but unmistakable hauteur and a singular elevation of his shirt frill, as if it had become of its own accord erectile, "Mr. Corbin--er--er--is the distant relative of old Major Corbin, of Nashville--er--one of my oldest political friends. When Mr. Corbin--er--returns, you can conduct him to me. And, if you please, replenish the glasses."
When the bar-keeper respectfully showed Mr. Corbin and "Wood's Digest" into the room again, the Colonel was still beaming and apologetic.
"A thousand thanks, sir, but except to SHOW you the law if you require it--hardly necessary. I have--er--glanced over the woman's letters again; it would be better, perhaps, if you had kept copies of your own--but still these tell the whole story and YOUR OWN.
The claim is preposterous! You have simply to drop the whole thing. Stop your remittances, stop your correspondence,--pay no heed to any further letters and wait results. You need fear nothing further, sir; I stake my professional reputation on it."
The gloom of the stranger seemed only to increase as the Colonel reached his triumphant conclusion.
"I reckoned you'd say that," he said slowly, "but it won't do. I shall go on paying as far as I can. It's my trouble and I'll see it through."
"But, my dear sir, consider," gasped the Colonel. "You are in the hands of an infamous harpy, who is using her son's blood to extract money from you. You have already paid a dozen times more than the life of that d----d sneak was worth; and more than that--the longer you keep on paying you are helping to give color to their claim and estopping your own defense. And Gad, sir, you're ****** a precedent for this sort of thing! you are offering a premium to widows and orphans. A gentleman won't be able to exchange shots with another without ****** himself liable for damages. I am willing to admit that your feelings--though, in my opinion--er--exaggerated--do you credit; but I am satisfied that they are utterly misunderstood--sir."
"Not by all of them," said Corbin darkly.
"Eh?" returned the Colonel quickly.
"There was another letter here which I didn't particularly point out to you," said Corbin, taking up the letters again, "for I reckoned it wasn't evidence, so to speak, being from HIS COUSIN, a girl,--and calculated you'd read it when I was out."
The Colonel coughed hastily. "I was in fact--er--just about to glance over it when you came in."
"It was written," continued Corbin, selecting a letter more bethumbed than the others, "after the old woman had threatened me.
