Carver joined them before the appointed space of time had elapsed.
“Freel, I’ve been feeling real contrite about resisting arrest a few weeks back,” Carver said. “I’ve decided to surrender and stand trial.”
The deputy marshal glanced apprehensively at the two old cowmen.
“Oh—that,” he said. “Why, I’ve let that matter drop. That’s all closed.”
“And it was real accommodating of you to close it,” Carver returned, “but I can’t stand by and see you get in trouble on my account. Orders are orders, and you had yours. That’s the reason I wrote this letter to Art Webb.” He tendered an unsealed letter to the deputy. Webb was Freel’s chief, the head United States marshal of the district. “Webb is a good friend of mine and I’m demanding that he inform me just why he sent an order down here to you to pick me up. That will put you in the clear for not rearresting me since that night I escaped.”
Carver turned to his two friends.
“You’ve both known Webb for years,” he said. “Did you write him like I asked you?”
“It clear slipped my mind,” Hinman apologized. “I’ll get it off this evening.”
“Mine goes on the same mail,” Nate concurred. “We’ll sift this thing right to the bottom layer and clear Freel of any possible blame.”
“Freel will be on my side himself if it comes to a showdown,” Carver asserted. “He’ll be the first to testify that I’d been away from home for a solid month prior to the time that charge was lodged. Some one’s tried to deal me from the bottom, and between the four of us we’ll discover who it is.”