“Well, maybe he has, an’ maybe he hasn’t,” Rathburn observed. “The best place to hide from a posse is in the middle of it.”
The porter looked at him, then burst into a loud laugh. “I guess you said something that time, pardner. In the middle of it, eh?” He went about his work, chuckling, while Rathburn walked to a front window and stood looking out.
A few minutes later he stepped quickly back into a corner, as a small automobile raced up the street. He sauntered to the rear door, passed out with a pleasant word to the porter, and when he gained the open, hurried up behind the buildings the length of the block. There he turned to the left and walked rapidly to a large stone building. He went around on the east side and entered a door on the ground floor. He found himself in a hallway, and on his left was a door, on the glazed glass of the 210 upper half of which was the gold lettering: “Sheriff’s Office.”
After a moment’s hesitation he opened the door quickly and went in. A man standing before an open roll-top desk turned and regarded the early-morning visitor. He was a small man, but of wiry build. His eyes were gray, and he wore a small, brown mustache. He had a firm chin, and his face was well tanned. He was holding a paper in his hands, and the paper remained as steady as a rock in his grasp. His eyes bored straight and unflinchingly into Rathburn’s. He showed no surprise, no concern. He made no move toward the pair of guns in the holsters of the belt which reposed on top of his desk. He spoke first.
“Have you come to give yourself up, Rathburn?”
“Hardly that, sheriff,” replied Rathburn cheerfully. “I arrived in town this morning after most of the population had moved to the desert and the country aroun’ Imagination. I didn’t think I was goin’ to be lucky enough to catch you in till I saw you arrive in that flivver. Are you back for more recruits?”
The sheriff continued to hold the paper without moving.
“When you first started to talk, Rathburn, I thought maybe bravado had brought you here to make a grand-stand play,” he said coolly. “But I see you’re not as foolhardy as some might think. I always gave you credit for being clever.”
“Thanks, Sheriff Long,” said Rathburn dryly. “There’s a few preliminaries we’ve got to get over, so–––”
His gun leaped into his hand and instantly covered the official. He stepped to the end of the desk, reached over and appropriated the belt with 211 the two guns with his left hand. He tossed the belt and weapons to a vacant chair.