“You tell him to come, judge, and watch his smoke,” Toothpick pleaded.
“A judge ask help from an outlaw who is wanted for murder in a dozen States?” Anderson laughed again.
“You gents stop gabbin’ and help me get this hombre in the buckboard,” the sheriff called.
A bed of blankets was made on the floor of the wagon, and the unconscious man was lifted in.
“Mr. Anderson, yuh drive him easy to town,” directed the sheriff. “An’ if he starts talkin’, yuh listen hard, ’cause I got a hunch that hombre will sure tell us a heap more about the Lava Gang than we knows now.”
“I’ll certain listen if he starts talking,” Anderson replied. He climbed into the buckboard and picked up the reins. Dutchy watched the team until it vanished in the night.
“I’d sure like to know where I seen that gent before, an’, if I ain’t seen him, who does he remind me of?” Dutchy muttered to himself.
Silent Moore was sent to town to gather a posse. The judge called Dutchy aside and whispered an order to him. Dutchy was known as a deadly fighter and a man who could be trusted.
“Dutchy, I want you to ride to the Frying Pan Ranch, and I don’t want you to let my daughter or Snippets out of your sight until this is over.”
The grizzled puncher mounted his horse and galloped off. The others remained.