“Yeah,” Allen replied.
“Yuh go on in and get warm. Til rub ’em down, feed ’em, and fix ’em pretty,” Sam Hogg said eagerly.
For a fraction of a second Allen hesitated, then he spoke to the grays.
“Thanks,” he said as he passed Sam Hogg.
Unceremoniously Allen sauntered into the store, sank into a chair near the fire, and called a greeting to Jim Hogg. The sheriff looked at Toothpick, and the latter shook his head; both hesitated to tell him the bad news. They served him a thick sandwich, which he munched in silence, then drank two cups of black coffee.
“Well?” he asked when he had finished.
Toothpick, Jim Hogg, and the sheriff stirred uneasily. Sam Hogg returned to the room just as the sheriff began to tell his story.
Sam Hogg stared at the little outlaw as he listened. This was not the boy he had seen the night before in the judge’s house. The freckled face was the same, but it was older. Allen was no longer a laughing youth, but a man whom all respected and, deep down in their hearts, feared. Allen’s expression never changed at the faltering accounts of the death of Dutchy and the kidnaping of Snippets. The ex-Ranger got the idea Allen had heard the story before and for some reason was concealing the fact.
Tad Hicks opened his sleepy eyes and stared at the little man by the stove. He took one look, rubbed his eyes, and looked again. He nudged Windy, and the plump puncher ceased his snores and sat up.
When the sheriff had finished, Toothpick stepped forward with clenched hands.