Chapter III

15

STRANGE FISH

“Leather. A pair of my gloves. I have the gloves specially made by Willer in Tulsa, who makes Indian gloves.

Anybody can see they're Willer gloves, and the Sheriff will take them—there's enough of the gloves that didn't burn that the Sheriff can do this—to Willer. And Willer will know he made them for me.”

Paris felt as if she was freezing.

“That knife was mine,” Johnny added.

“Johnny, was it what they call a frame−up?”

“A frame right around us,” he agreed. “And it was smooth and fast work. The fat man knew I had found out about his camp. How he found that out beats me. But he surmised we would visit his camp—wait! Oh, no!

Maybe he didn't!” Johnny became silent.

“What other way—”

“I'm giving the fat man credit for too much brains,” Johnny said violently. “Here's what he did: He figured you came to Oklahoma because you had a protector here, and he concluded I was the protector. So he fixed this frameup to get me in jail. He got into my cabin and took the knife, the gloves, and God knows what else.

That would be easy. Then he—he killed that Porter, and telephoned the Sheriff.”

“But, Johnny, you couldn't be convicted of such a thing.”

“It would get me thrown in the clink, which probably was the idea,” Johnny said gloomily.

“But why—”

“To get me out of the way, so I couldn't help you.”

“I mean, why is all this happening?” Paris exclaimed.

Johnny pushed out his jaw grimly. “I wish I knew.”

JOHNNY was scared. He wasn't trembling, and the fear wasn't getting him down. But he was disturbed. Part of his worry was, understandably, about himself.

Paris saw that he had the knife with the deer−foot handle. He was examining it. Suddenly he strode out of the house, was gone about ten minutes in the darkness, and came back without the knife. Paris knew he had hidden the knife.

“Are you sure you put it where it won't be found?” she asked.

He shivered. “I hope so.” He sprawled in a chair, frowning. “It will take the Sheriff five or six hours to find out those were my gloves in the fire. Say daylight at the most. Then he's going to be out here with a hatful of questions.”

“Maybe,” Paris suggested, “we should tell him the truth.”

“That bothers me,” Johnny said. “Let me think.”