To his amazement, the door gave slightly under his touch, which was no way at all for a self-respecting jail door to behave. This "giving" suggested the application of more force. Crouching, he put his shoulder to it and the heavy portal swung open. He had been "jugged" in an uncorked "jug," and there was nothing now to keep him from going where and when he listed.
He delayed just long enough to examine the fastenings which had not fastened. A heavy padlock hung securely locked in its deep-set staple, but the hasp had been left outside, folded back against the door. For the first time that morning, Sergeant Scarlet smiled; more than that, he grinned. For once he was indebted to too much brandy.
Outside, under the blue sky, he took several deep breaths of vitalizing air. He had seen his own prisoners do that upon being released from confinement, but never understood the impulse as he did now. A moment was necessary to get his bearings; the jail stood on a knoll a hundred yards back from King Street.
To make tracks out of camp was his first inclination. But at once he rejected any attempt at escape. That would only start Hardley in pursuit, probably with that posse the coroner's jury had authorized so superfluously. Rather, he must quiet the deputy's suspicions, even to disclosing his official identity, if necessary. Picking his path, he strode down the incline to King Street.
As he neared the Bonanza, he saw Hardley come off the porch and waddle in his direction. But at first sight of him, the deputy merely added another to the morning's list of surprises. This one took the form of a cheerfully waved greeting, as from friend to friend. By no stretch of the imagination could it have been expected from an officer sighting a prisoner who had just broken out of jail. Seymour advanced, puzzled and on guard.
"You're out early this morning, stranger," Hardley shrilled when the paces that separated them were few. "Just been up to your room looking for you but heard no 'Come in.'"
The sergeant studied the man a moment, then replied: "Sorry I was out. What can I do for you, now that you've found me?"
"I noticed yesterday that you have a come-hither eye," went on the deputy in a lower voice. "I've got a hunch them murdering stage robbers are camped in a cañon south of town a-ways. Thought you might like a little frolic as one of my official posse. No danger to speak of, for I'll be leading you and we'll all be armed to the shoulder-blades. Better come if you've got the time to spare."
That Hardley did not know Seymour had spent the night in jail seemed indubitable. The Mounted officer could not explain it. Too much to blame upon the brandy this seemed, for the deputy had been absolutely sober in Brewster's room. But explanations could wait. Here was a chance to be about his police business without disclosing that he had any.
At once Seymour expressed his regret. He honestly had no time to spare. Hardley could understand how anxious he was to get to the creeks and locate something for himself. The deputy should have no trouble recruiting enough men, citizens who knew the country better than any stranger could and who already had staked their claims. He was for the law every time—Seymour was, but he'd appreciate being excused from service this once.