"Thanks," said Lafe politely, when he received them.
He saddled his horse and put a rifle in the holster. His .45 was always at his hip, concealed in a leather-lined pocket.
"I reckon we'll have to put the wedding off a few days, Hetty," he said, as he bade her good-by. "I've got to leave on the jump. There's no saying when I'll get back, either."
It was nearly midnight and very dark. Hetty toyed with his horse's mane. She swallowed the lump that rose in her throat.
"All right," she said. "Take care of yourself, Lafe."
The sheriff kissed her and set out. He entered Mexico and struck southwest. No United States officer had a right to invade Mexican territory for a criminal, nor to arrest him on Mexican soil, but Johnson was determined to catch his man first and argue this legal phase of it afterwards, with Steve safe in the calaboose at Badger. So he opened a line gate unobserved and galloped through the soft night in pursuit of Moffatt.
The days sped by and Hetty received a wire from Lafe, who was now in Cananea.
"No luck," it ran. "He's doubled back on me. Hope to pick up trail here."
But what transpired in Cananea deserves a place to itself. Even now Hetty does not like to hear any reference to the subject, and Lafe will eye her uneasily if it be mentioned.