That was exactly what the sheriff thought. It ended in the saloonkeeper leaving town in haste. Then the sheriff set quietly to work to ascertain whither Moffatt had flown for refuge. It would be so warm for him along the Border now, that a haven would be difficult.
"We'd best to wait a mite yet, Hetty," he told his fiancée again. "Supposing he was to get me? No, no. It's either me or him. So let's just keep the wedding off a while, hon, and then this'll all be straightened out."
"Oh—all right."
"You see, hon, I want to have a clean slate," he went on rather lamely. "Don't you understand? Before we get married, I aim to throw up this job of sheriff and take to running cattle with ol' Horne."
"Huh-huh."
"Don't look that way, hon. Steve, he's the last. I'll go get him and then I'll have done what they put me in for."
"Oh, of course, if you think more of the people who elected you than you do of me," said Hetty.
For a moment he seemed taken aback. Then his face cleared and he swept Hetty into his arms.
He did not have long to wait for news of the outlaw. A telegram came from Floyd of the Lazy L.
Steve Moffatt in Lost Springs mountains. Heading for the Jug. Killed Pablo Jiminez to-day while running off bunch of horses. Horne and I offer five hundred reward for him.