"'You're an old pig-headed fool,' says Pete to me; 'and you lie like a
thief. You know who it was, same as I do--old C. Mayer Zurich, grand
champion lightweight collar-and-elbow grafter and liar, cowman,
grubstaker, general storekeeper, postmaster, and all-round crook, right
here in Cobre--right here where young Stanley's been gettin' 'em dealt
from the bottom for three years. Them other post-office fellows never had
no truck with Stanley--never so much as heard of him. Zurich's here.
He had the disposition, the motive, the opportunity, and the habit.
Besides, he sold you a shoddy coat once. Forgotten that?'"

Pete paused to glower over that coat; and young Mitchell, big-eyed and
gasping, seized the chance to put in a word:

"You're an ingenious old nightmare, pardner--you almost make it
convincing. But Great Scott, man! Can't you see that your fine, plausible
theory is all built on surmise and wild conjecture? You haven't got a leg
to stand on--not one single fact!"

"Whilst I was first a-constructing this ingenious theory your objection
might have carried force; for I didn't have a fact to stand on, as you
observe. I conjectured round pretty spry, too. Reckon it took me all of
half a second--while them two warriors was giving me the evil eye. I'll
tell you how it was." He related the story of the shooting match and the
lost bet. "And to this unprovoked design against an inoffensive stranger
I fitted the only possible meaning and shape that would make a lick of
sense, dovetailin' in with the real honest-to-goodness facts I already
knew."

"But don't you see, old thing, you're still up in the air? Your theory