"And so," Sheriff Dove continued, with calm finality, "I'm out to bring in this here McHale."
Casey thereupon gave Tom's reasons for leaving, and expressed his opinion that he would come in and give himself up within a short time. The sheriff listened, smoking impassively.
"I dunno but what McHale acted pretty sensible," he commented. "He needn't worry about my not protectin' him. I've give a prisoner a gun and let him help stand off a mob before now. Likewise, I've got lead in my system doin' it. However, that ain't the point. I can't wait 'round for him to come in. I got to get him. There's been quite a bunch of things happenin' down in this country, far as I can hear, that ain't none too law-abidin'."
Casey merely smiled genially.
"Mind you, I ain't no busybody," said the sheriff. "I get trouble enough in a regular way without huntin' for it. I've been hearin' things, but there bein' no complaint I've sat tight. Up to this Cross killin' nobody's been hurt. But that's serious and brings me in to take a hand. One of my deputies, Jack Pugh, is after a young feller named McCrae. There's lots of things don't speak well for respect for the law down here. I represent the law, and what hits it hits me."
"I understand. You've been straight with me, sheriff, and I appreciate it. I don't know exactly where McHale is, but I think if you found him and gave him a straight, decent talk he'd come in without any trouble. He doesn't want any. And I think you'll find him somewhere in the hills. That's all I can tell you now."
"Him and this young McCrae is tillikums, they tell me," the sheriff suggested. "You think maybe they've met up?"
"They may. There's a chance of it."
The sheriff considered. "This McCrae is a leetle mite headstrong, I'm told. Sorter apt to act rash."
"I'm afraid so."