“You want to move into the office here while I’m gone?”
“Nope, thanks. I’ll just lock her up; I expect to be plumb busy for a few days. Now what say to you and me going after that bad guy? I reckon we’ll find him down to Mike’s Place. Boys,” and he turned to the ex-deputies, “Sheriff Tracy has discovered that there’s a feller here badly wanted for a holdup and murder—and he aims to light out with him right off. That is, providin’ we gather him in without any gunplay, which we hope to do. You might spread the news, so folks won’t think it funny that Tracy is out o’ town.”
“What about that killin’ up on the north road?” asked somebody. “Matt Brady?”
Fisher looked at the speaker.
“Oh, him?” he asked in surprise. “Why, I done that myself. No objections?”
“Gosh, no!” was the response, hastily rendered.
Sam Fisher smiled grimly as he left the office with Tracy at his elbow.
“Any of the Running Dog outfit in town?” he asked when they were crossing the street.
“Not that I know of,” said Tracy, jingling the handcuffs in his pocket. “But if I was you, Fisher, I’d sort of keep my eye skinned for Buck.”
“Thanks.” Fisher chuckled. “That’s the best little thing to do, Tracy. Well, here goes for the big show! Bet you a dollar we don’t even have a rumpus.”