The cry of a girl startled them. She came running from the kitchen where she had fled when the sheriff announced his intention to shoot through the floor.
“Ed!” she cried, running to Lamy and throwing her arms about him. “Oh––Ed!”
“Who is he, ma’am?” asked the sheriff. “Your husband?”
“He’s my brother––Ed Lamy.”
“I can recommend him if you need a guide who knows the country, sheriff,” said Rathburn genially. “I guess he had an idea of making trouble for me at first, but I had the drop on him an’ he soon saw reason. I had to knock him down last night when he got fresh, but he did very well. Of course I had an advantage on my side.” He nodded toward his gun which the official still held in his hand.
“Did he make you guide him?” Neal asked Lamy, noting his empty holster.
Rathburn turned so that he could look at his former captive.
Lamy nodded. “Yes,” he replied. “I didn’t know what minute I was goin’ to get shot in the back.”
Rathburn’s eyes glowed with an amused light. “I didn’t have any idea of shootin’ him, sheriff; he was too valuable as my escort on the tour. I wonder 75 if the lady could spare me a cup of coffee an’ a biscuit?”
He glimpsed the boy in the kitchen doorway behind the sheriff. “Hello, sonny,” he called cheerfully. “Did you catch those freckles from your brother?”