It seemed past comprehension that anything startling could happen in that drowsy atmosphere.
The young cowboy was coming back down the street, some part of the car over his shoulder. Mrs. Weston anticipated his nod, and nodded lazily as he passed. She could hear him tinkering at the car.
A few blocks up the street, Buck Hardy was seated in his office talking with the undersheriff. The undersheriff twisted the end of his black mustache and looked wise.
"They told me at the hotel that he had gone riding with them Easterners," said Hardy. "And now you say he's been in town all day working on that automobile."
"Yep. He's been to the blacksmith twice to-day. I didn't say anything to him, seein' you was over to Larkins's, and said he was out of town. I'd hate to think he done anything like that."
"That hobo was gone when I went to talk to him this morning. The lock was busted. I can't figure it out. Young Lorry stood to win the reward, and he could use the money."
"Hear anything by wire?" queried the undersheriff.
"Nothing. The man didn't get by on any of the trains. I notified both stations. He's afoot and he's gone."
"Well, I guess the kid loses out, eh?"
"That ain't all. This county will jump me for letting that guy get away.
It won't help us any next election."