“Who was here?” asked the manager, abruptly.
The elder clerk named a half dozen persons. Mr. Cook seemed to mentally check off each name.
“No one else?”
Both men hesitated.
“One er two ’at come in from the corral—mostly fur a drink o’ water,” answered the chief clerk. But, as to the identity of these, neither clerk was clear. Mr. Cook seemed thinking deeply. He idly handed the cash drawer to the distracted elder clerk and motioned him to close the safe. Then, without any of the agitation that was disconcerting his employes, and even Roy, he said calmly to the younger clerk:
“Go and find Marshal Wooley. You can tell him what’s happened, if he wants to know, but tell him not to get excited over it. I want him to find out when Mike Hassell left town, and how he was mounted.”
Both clerks shouted together:
“Hassell? He was in here.”
“Sure,” remarked Mr. Cook. “I know that—about nine o’clock. An’ he came in the back way. As he didn’t come out again, he must have left by the front door. He’s got about nine hours the start of us.”