“Shut up!” ordered Fisher. “One more word out of you, Pincher Brady, and I’ll drill your hand—should ha’ done it yesterday. You’re going to the capital for robbery and murder. Guess I’ll take a look at his pockets, Tracy, if you don’t mind.”
Gyved and backed against the bar by Tracy, the prisoner was helpless. Sam Fisher stepped forward, removed his gun, and then swiftly searched him. He took from Murphy’s breast pocket a number of papers, and hurriedly glanced over them.
“Most of these have bearings on my case, Tracy,” he announced. “You’ll have no objections if I take charge of ’em?”
“None whatever, Fisher,” said the sheriff amiably.
At this response Murphy gave a violent start. Galway Mike, behind the bar, opened his mouth and started with a drooping jaw.
“Fisher!” stammered Murphy. “Who you callin’ Fisher, sheriff? This here gent——”
“Is the sheriff o’ Pecos County,” said Sheriff Tracy. “And he’s takin’ my place here for a few days, gents. Now, Brady, march along!”
“I’ll run along and see you off,” said Sam Fisher languidly.
Tracy grinned. He was beginning to feel that he had chosen the wiser way out of a very bad dilemma, and was fully as anxious to depart from Pahrump as Sam Fisher was to have him gone. He had nothing to gain by staying, and much to lose.
“If I’d knowed you was Sam Fisher,” said Murphy ruefully as they went out, “I wouldn’t have monkeyed with you no ways.”