He walked hurriedly through his office into the living room. There he stood for a spell beside the table on which burned the lamp. His brows were knit into a heavy frown. He seemed debating a question in his mind. He tapped with nervous fingers on the table top.
“Pshaw,” he said aloud, his face darkening. “He’s an outlaw.”
He put on his coat and dropped an automatic pistol into a side pocket. After another moment of hesitation he blew out the light and walked quickly out of the place, locking the door after him.
He hurried up the street to the jail. He found the jailer dozing in the little front office and did not attempt to disturb him. From the jail he hurried another short distance up the street and turned in at a little house located some distance back from the sidewalk. He knocked loudly on the door, and after a brief wait repeated the performance.
A light showed, and the front door opened. Mannix, the deputy, looked out.
“Let me in,” said Sautee briefly. “There’s been another robbery.”
Mannix swung the door wide and stepped aside. He wore an ulster over his night clothes, and his bare feet were thrust into slippers. He scowled at the mines manager as he shut the door.
“More of the company’s money gone?” he asked with a touch of sarcasm in his voice.
Sautee nodded. “Some twenty-odd thousand,” he said soberly; “and I believe the man that got it is responsible for the holdups that have been pulled off around here.”