"Oh, good evening," he cringed as Meshackatee loomed up before him. "Well, well, howdy do, Meshackatee!"
"I want some grub," returned Meshackatee, "and I want it quick, without any high signs to the Scarboroughs. So jest git out your pencil and keep tally on what we take—you'll be paid by Tonto County."
"But the county is practically bankrupt," protested Johnson in an ague.
"So'm I," replied Meshackatee, "and I'm hungry to boot. So use your own judgment, Mr. Johnson."
He stepped into the store-room and began to hand out the sacks of flour, and after a glaring silence Mr. Johnson saw the point and began sullenly to check up the requisition. For a requisition it was, such as armies are wont to make, and deputy sheriffs in pursuit of criminals; and soon bacon and coffee and beans came out to fill the sacks which they were slinging on the saddles of their spare mounts.
"Now, what's the news, Mr. Johnson?" spoke up Meshackatee abruptly. "Who's over at the Scarborough place now?"
"Why—er—Elmo," began the store-keeper, "and Miz Zoolah, of course——"
"Where's Isham?" demanded Meshackatee, and the others stopped to listen, but Johnson only shook his head.
"He's gone," he said, and Meshackatee drew his big six-shooter and laid it down impressively in the lamp-light.