“I think Mr. Dawson, the banker, is one of them,” replied Andy.
“Mr. Dawson has been away from town for a week, and will not return for two.”
Andy’s face fell. The thought of the banker had come to him hopefully.
“Can I telegraph, then?” he asked, “to friends out of town?”
“Telegraph,” sneered Talbot. “My great pumpkins, with your new suit of clothes and watch and one hundred dollar bills and telegrams!”
“I can grant you no favors before I have notified the prosecuting attorney of your arrest,” said the deputy. “Lock him up, turnkey.”
All this seemed very harsh and ominous to Andy, but he did not allow it to depress him. He followed the turnkey without another word. The latter unlocked a great barred door, and Andy felt a trifle chilled as it reclosed on him and he was a prisoner.
“How do you do, Mr. Chase?” he said, as he recognized the lockup-keeper, an old grizzled man, who limped towards him.
“Got you, did they?” spoke the man. “Sorry, Andy.”
“Yes, I am sorry, too, just at this time. Of course you know, I’m not the kind of a fellow to burn down a man’s barn.”