“That’s the man we’re after. Rides a dun-colored horse; tall, light-complexioned. Seen anybody like that around here?”
“He was here day before yesterday,” said the boy truthfully. “Sis gave him something to eat, an’ he went on into town. He didn’t seem like such a bad man to me. Told me never to lie.”
“He was here? Ate here?” The sheriff’s voice was excited.
Rathburn saw Lamy’s eyes widen.
“Frankie,” the sheriff said soberly, “that Coyote 70 went into town an’ robbed a place. He’s a bad, dangerous man no matter how he looks or what he says. Have you seen anybody that looked like him since?”
The question was followed by a deep silence.
Rathburn alert, his eyes gleaming, heard the sheriff rise.
“Answer me, boy. I’m the sheriff of this county!”
“’Tain’t that––’tain’t that,” said the boy in a tremulous voice. “Only––I’d rather not tell, Mr. Sheriff.”
“You must answer me!” said the official sternly. “Have you seen any one around here––yesterday or this morning?”