Sandy Flash lifted his face to the light, and grinned, but not with his old, mocking expression. He stretched out his hand which Gilbert took,—hard and cold as the rattling chain at his wrist. Then, seating himself with a clash upon the floor, he pushed the stool towards his visitor, and said,—
“Set down, Potter. Limited accommodations, you see. Sheriff, you needn't wait; it's private business.”
The Sheriff locked the iron door behind him, and they were alone.
“Potter,” the highwayman began, “you see I'm trapped and done for, and all, it seems, on account o' that little affair o' your'n. You won't think it means much, now, when I say I was in the wrong there; but I swear I was! I had no particular spite ag'in Barton, but he's a swell, and I like to take such fellows down; and I was dead sure you were carryin' his money, as you promised to.”
“Tell me one thing,” Gilbert interrupted; “how did you know I promised to take money for him?”
“I knowed it, that's enough; I can give you, word for word, what both o' you said, if you doubt me.”
“Then, as I thought, it was Barton himself!” Gilbert cried.
Sandy Flash burst into a roaring laugh. “Him! Ah-ha! you think we go snacks, eh? Do I look like a fool? Barton'd give his eye-teeth to put the halter round my neck with his own hands! No, no, young man; I have ways and ways o' learnin' things that you nor him'll never guess.”
His manner, even more than his words, convinced Gilbert Barton was absolved, but the mystery remained. “You won't deny that you have friends?” he said.
“Maybe,” Sandy replied, in a short, rough tone. “That's nothin' to you,” he continued; “but what I've got to say is, whether or no you're a friend to Deb., she thinks you are. Do you mean to look after her, once't in a while, or are you one o' them that forgits a good turn?”