“See you’re packing a black slicker,” said Mannix, pointing to the rough raincoat in which the pack was wrapped.
“That’s in case of rain,” was the ready answer.
“What’s your name?” asked the deputy with a frown.
“Rathburn.”
“Where was you heading?”
“I was aiming in a general eastern direction,” Rathburn replied in a drawl. “Is there any law 104 against ridin’ hosses in this here part of the country?”
“Not at all,” replied the deputy heartily. “An’ there’s no law against drivin’ automobiles or trucks. But there’s a law against stoppin’ ’em with a gun.”
“So,” said Rathburn. “You stopped because you saw my gun? An’ I’m to blame, for it? If I’d known you were touchy about guns down here I’d have worn mine in my shirt.”
One of the other men from the car had joined the deputy. He was looking at Rathburn keenly. Mannix turned to him.
“Look like him?” he asked.