Rathburn lifted his brows.
“Say,” exclaimed the porter eagerly, “you didn’t see any men ridin’ looselike, when you was coming in, did you?”
Rathburn shook his head. “What’s all this you’re tryin’ to chirp into my ear?” he asked.
“Well, Bob Long, the sheriff, has got all his deputies out except just the jailer––there ain’t anybody much in jail now, anyway––an’ all the other men he could pin a star on, lookin’ for a gang that held up the stage from Sunshine yesterday mornin’, shot the stage driver dead, an’ made off with an express package full of money. There’s a big reward out for the man that’s leadin’ the gang. He’s called The Coyote. Used to live here. He’s a bad one.”
“Sheriff out, too?” Rathburn asked, showing great interest.
“Sure. Come back in early last night an’ got more men. They’re tryin’ to surround Imagination Range, I guess. That’s where this Coyote an’ his gang are supposed to be hanging out. The sheriff don’t care so much for the fellers that’s with him, I guess, but he sure does want this Coyote person. He told everybody to let the gang go if they had to, but to get the leader.”
Rathburn looked through the front windows with a quizzical smile on his lips. The sun was shining in the deserted street.
“How many men has the sheriff got?” he inquired casually.
“Most two hundred, I guess. They’re scattered all over the range, an’ a lot of ’em has hit over on the other side. They think The Coyote crossed the range an’ is makin’ east.”