He bade the Indian go with him to tend the windlass and Apache Kid and I returned to the cabin, Slim following ostentatiously at our heels, and remaining at the door watching the sheriff.
I plucked my friend by the sleeve. This was the first opportunity we had had for private speech since the sheriff's arrival.
"Apache," I said, "what is the meaning of this arrest? Is it the half-breed that came with Mr. Pinkerton who has garbled the tale of his death for some reason?"
He shook his head.
"No," said he, "not the half-breed. I 'll wager it is some of Farrell's gang that are at the bottom of it."
"But they," I began, "they were all——" and I stopped on the word.
"Wiped out?" he said. "True; but you forget Pete, the timid villain."
"But he," I said, "he was away long before that affair of poor Mr. Pinkerton."
"Yes, but doubtless the Indian made up on him, and whether they talked or not Pete could draw his conclusions. And a man like Pete, one of your coyote order of bad men, would just sit down and plot and plan——"
"But even then," I said, "they can't prove a thing that never occurred; they can't prove that you did what you never did."