“All right,” said Fisher, nodding. “You take the keys to the sheriff’s office—they’re with the others I gave you—and look inside the sheriff’s desk for those papers about Buck and Murphy. They must go to the governor at once; I’ll have to go with ’em, I guess, so that puts it off a few days. Those papers are more important than anything else, Buck; they prove that Frank Shumway was framed and that it was done through Murphy. We’ll get a full confession out of Murphy, beyond a doubt. So we want to get the matter up to the governor and get a pardon for Frank at the earliest moment.”
“I’ll attend to them,” promised Jake. He stepped forward and held out his hand. “So long! Hasta la vista!”
“Say, Jake!” Over their clasped hands Fisher looked up, a twinkle in his eye. “One thing more! Send that preacher out here to-morrow, will you?”
“What for?” demanded Jake in surprise.
“Never mind. You send him.”
“All right. So long, Stella; see you later!”
Jake and his foreman stamped out. Stella Shumway looked at the sheriff of Pecos, her face very red.
“Sam, what do you want that preacher for?”
“Wait a minute.” Fisher lifted himself on his good elbow, and looked at the adjoining cot. He met the grinning features of Steve Arnold, and made a fierce grimace. “You, Steve! If I was you, cowboy, I’d look the other way—right at that wall. It’s a heap interesting.”
With a chuckle Steve obeyed and turned his head.