“I’d like to go with the officers,” remarked Mr. Campbell. “I can then identify my car if we find it. But, even if there were room, I’d rather you boys wouldn’t come. There may be shooting—”
“There will be if we get within distance!” declared Mr. Dodge, grimly.
“If you boys wouldn’t mind waiting here,” suggested Mr. Campbell, “it would be better, maybe. I know it’s rather hard luck,” he added with a smile, as he saw the rueful look on Chot’s face, “but it’s what I think your folks would want, and I’m responsible for you.”
“Oh, we’ll stay,” offered Rick cheerfully. “I wouldn’t go, anywhere, and leave Ruddy behind.”
“Tell you what,” broke in Mr. Wilson, “you boys go back to town and wait for me at my office. You can tell the sheriff how things turned out, and that will save us time telephoning, ’specially as there isn’t a line around here. Go back to my office in the court-house and wait. Here, I’ll give you a note to show it’s all right.”
He scribbled something on the back of an envelope and passed it to Rick. Meanwhile the special deputies were quickly scrambling into the autos, Mr. Campbell being invited to ride with Nick Wilson and his two helpers, while Bert and his four filled the muddy, ramshackle, rusty flivver that he owned.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can, boys,” called Mr. Campbell to Rick and Chot. “We couldn’t go on, anyhow, until I get my car again.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” Rick assured him. “We’ll wait in town for you. How far back is it?” he asked the deputy sheriff.
“’Bout three miles.”
“That isn’t far,” admitted Chot.