"Talkin' don't git you nothin'. You listen here. We'll git this party yet. If the boys that took after him don't bring him in, I'll post a reward of a hundred dollars cash money out of my own pocket fer him——"
"Post it, then," snapped Barras, somewhat mollified, "git it on paper—" Another, louder clap of thunder followed a vivid lightning flash and wild with apprehension, Endicott forced his way to the bar and interrupted the quarrel: "What did this woman look like? Where is she?"
A dozen men, all talking at once answered him: "Good looker—" "Wore bran' new ridin' outfit—" "Rode a blaze-face buckskin—" "Said she knowed him—" "Went right in—" "Tried to dicker with Hod an' git him off—" The marshal pushed through the crowd to Endicott's side: "An' what's more, when he come bustin' out of the alley an' rode off down the trail she follered right in behind so we didn't dast to shoot; er we'd of got him. If you want to know what I think, they're a couple of desperadoes that figgered on stickin' up the express box over to the hotel, bein' as the payroll fer the Rock Creek mine come in today, only he got drunk first an' queered the game. An' what I want to know," the man continued, thrusting his face close to Endicott's, "is who the hell you be, an'——"
The hotel keeper interrupted importantly: "Him an' the woman come in on the stage an' wanted a couple rooms an' changed into them ridin' outfits, an' slipped out an' didn't show up fer supper! I mistrusted they was somethin' suspicious—they wanted a bath—an' the old woman usin' the tubs——"
"An' bein' as we couldn't git you all," broke in the marshal, drawing his gun, and at the same time pulling back his coat and displaying a huge badge, "we'll jest take what we kin git. Yer under arrest, an' fer fear you might be as handy with yer guns as yer pardner, you kin stick up yer hands——"
"Hold on!" Colston's words boomed above the voices of the men who had surged forward to hold Endicott.
"It's Y Bar Colston!" someone cried, and all eyes turned to the speaker. The marshal eyed him sullenly as the men made way for him.
The ranchman was smiling: "Don't go makin' any mistakes, Hod," he said, "let me make you acquainted with Mr. Endicott, of Cincinnati, Ohio, owner of the Y Bar."
"The Y Bar!"
"Yes. I sold out to him this evenin'—lock, stock, an' barrel."