"What for?" gasped Janice.
"Why, for somebody he called Uncle Tio. Uncle Tio's lost his—had 'em stole. I judge nobody down here ever owns more than one pair of pants at a time, and they would have hung this feller that stole Uncle Tio's if they'd caught him. 'Tisn't horse thieves they lynch down here in the Southwest; it's pants thieves!" and Marty chuckled.
"Oh, Marty!" giggled Janice. "The whole police force has gone chasing the robber who got Uncle Tio's trousers."
"Thought there weren't any police?" gasped Marty.
Janice told him about Rosita's husband.
"A sheriff, eh?" said Marty. "We'll get him to grab and hold on to Tom Hotchkiss—sure. Wonder if there's a calaboose here?"
"There must be some way of holding the man. Did you communicate with Lieutenant Cowan, Marty?"
The boy wagged his head regretfully. "Nobody knows where he is. They tell me at the telegraph office that the army is on a war basis and information about the movements of troops is not locally given out. We got to go on our own taps, I guess, Janice."
"But, Marty, I don't know what to do. About this Tom Hotchkiss, I mean."
"I know. You're mighty anxious to make the crossing and go up to Uncle Brocky's mine. So am I. But we got to grab Tom Hotchkiss first."