The boy gazed at him abashed. There were actually tears in the youngster’s eyes. Ed Lamy and his sister moved into the kitchen and took the boy with them. The girl had nodded to the sheriff.
“She’ll get you something to eat,” said Neal. “What have you got on you?” He stepped to Rathburn’s side.
“Ah––the frisk. I see you are a regulation officer, sheriff.” Rathburn’s tone fairly radiated politeness and good cheer. “The silver was rather heavy. It ain’t my usual style to pack much silver, sheriff. There’s more of the bills in my hip pockets. Don’t suppose there’s more’n a thousand in the whole bundle.”
The sheriff put the bills and silver on the table. He investigated all of Rathburn’s pockets, returned him his tobacco, papers, and handkerchief, but kept a box of matches. Then he felt his prisoner’s clothing to make sure that he had no weapons concealed; he also felt his boot tops.
He looked at Rathburn with a gloating expression when he had finished; there was also a glint of admiration in the gaze he directed at him.
“You size right up to the descriptions of you, Coyote,” he reflected in a pleasant voice. “Too bad you couldn’t have been in a better business. I’m glad I caught you, but I ain’t any too––too––well, I might say any too proud of it. That may be pleasant for you to hear. But I ain’t discounting your well-known ability, an’ I want to warn you 76 that I or any of my men will shoot you in your tracks if you start anything that looks suspiciouslike.”
Rathburn yawned. “Sheriff, your courtesy is very greatly appreciated. I only hope we will arrive in jail or somewhere soon where I can get some sleep. I’m all in.”