And although the impatient deputy plied him with
a volley of questions the other vouchsafed no further information.
Midway of the ascent to the bench the two drew rein abruptly. From
above, and at no great distance, rang the sound of a shot--then
silence. The deputy glanced at the half-breed: "Hey, Bat," he
whispered, "this here's a dangerous business!"
"Mebbe-so Choteau County lak' to git de sher'ff w'at ain' so mooch
scairt."
"Scairt! Who's scairt? It hain't that. But I got a wife an' nine
kids back there in the mountains, an' I'm a-goin' to deputize you."
The half-breed shot him a look of sudden alarm: "_Non_! _Non_! Better
I lak' I ponch de cattle. You ke'p de nine wife an' de kid!"
"You hain't got no more sense than a reservation Injun!" growled the
deputy. "What I mean is, you got to help me make this here arrest!"
The half-breed grinned broadly: "Me,--A'm de, w'at you call, de posse,
eh? _Bien_! Com' on 'long den. Mebbe-so we no ketch, you no git
'lect for sher'ff."
At the head of the trail the deputy checked his galloping mount with a
jerk and scrutinized the three riderless horses that stood huddled
together. His face paled perceptibly. "Oh, Lord!" he gasped between
stiffening lips: "It's Tex, an' Jack Purdy, an' they've fit over
Cinnabar Joe's gal!"
He turned wrathfully toward Bat.
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