The man nodded. “About the same size and height.”
“This man was drivin’ a truck up here that was stopped this morning,” said the deputy sternly to Rathburn. “He says you size up to one of the men that turned the trick––one of them that wore a black slicker like yours.”
Rathburn nodded pleasantly. “Exactly,” he said with a smile. “I happen to be in the country an’ I’ve got a black slicker. There you are; everything all proved up. An’ yet there was somebody once told me it took brains to be a sheriff!”
There was a glint in Rathburn’s eyes as he uttered the last sentence.
Instead of flying into a rage, Mannix laughed.
“Don’t kid yourself,” he said grimly. “You’re not the man who held up this truck driver.”
He gave Rathburn back his gun, to the latter’s surprise. Then he waved toward Rathburn’s horse.
“Go ahead,” he said, smiling. “General eastern direction, wasn’t it? This road will take you clean to the desert, if you want to go that far. So long.”
He led the others back to the car which started 105 off with a roar. It passed the truck and continued on up the road.
Rathburn sat his horse and watched the automobile out of sight. His expression was one of deep perplexity.