Sun Dog loot

A Complete Novel
By W. C. Tuttte
Author of “Just For a Laugh,” “Rustler’s Roost,” etc.
“Brick” Davidson hooked his spurred heels over the edge of his desk, shifted his position slightly and began rolling a cigaret, his eyes half-shut, as if deep in thought.
Brick was of medium height, with a thin, freckled face and red hair. It was red hair—not auburn at all; red hair, the color of a new brick. His mouth was wide, his eyes blue and ears rather prominent. Just now his faded blue shirt hiked up around his ears and his overalls threatened to withdraw from his short-topped high-heeled boots.
Over the wetting of his cigaret he squinted at the wall across from him, where a collection of reward notices covered the rough boards. There were many notices in this collection, with rewards ranging from fifty dollars to a hundred times that amount. Some bore photographs of those wanted, but the majority were mere descriptions, which might fit any one.
There were three other men in the office with Brick, seated in chairs near the desk; three serious-faced men who waited for Brick to speak. One of them was Bill Grant, a tall, sour-faced, middle-aged man, with a wispy mustache and a nervous manner. Another was Al Hendricks, heavy-set, dark-complexioned, slow of speech; while the third was Sam Leach, slight of physique, bat-eared and inclined to be sarcastic. Grant and Hendricks were ranchers, while Leach was a cattle-buyer. And the three of them composed the Board of Commissioners of Sun Dog County, of which Brick Davidson was the sheriff.
Brick lighted his cigaret and shifted his eyes to the three men.
“Well,” he said slowly, “I reckon yuh think that comin’ to see me will change things a lot, don’tcha?”
Grant cleared his throat, causing the wispy mustache to vibrate, and Brick grinned openly. The mustache amused him. He had remarked anent that futile effort of Grant’s, assuring him that he was too stingy to fill his soul with enough fertilizing to grow hair. And Grant was sensitive.