“Don’t let any one suspect her, young man,” continued the father. “I’ll stay within reach—deliver me up, if it should be necessary to clear her.”
“Trust to me,” said Jim. “I know a man when I see him, even if he is a woman.”
Two days later the sheriff rode into town, leading behind him the counterfeiter’s horses, with the wagon and its contents, with thousands of dollars in counterfeit money. The counterfeiter had escaped, he said, and he had wounded him.
Bunkerville ran wild with enthusiasm, and when the sheriff insisted upon paying out of his own pocket the value of Braymer’s and Williamson’s horses, men of all parties agreed that Charley Mansell should be run for Congress on an independent ticket.
But the sheriff declined the honor, and, declaring that he had heard of the serious illness of his father, insisted upon resigning and leaving the country. Like an affectionate son, he purchased some dress-goods, which he said might please his mother, and then he departed, leaving the whole town in sorrow.
There was one man at Bunkerville who did not suffer so severely as he might have done by the sheriff’s departure, had not his mind been full of strange thoughts. Pete Williamson began to regard his brother with suspicion, and there seemed some ground for his feeling. Jim was unnaturally quiet and abstracted; he had been a great deal with the sheriff before that official’s departure, and yet did not seem to be on as free and pleasant terms with him as before. So Pete slowly gathered a conviction that the sheriff was on the track of a large reward from the bank injured by the counterfeiter; that Jim was to have a share for his services on the eventful night; that there was some disagreement between them on the subject, and that Jim was trying the unbrotherly trick of keeping his luck a secret from the brother who had resolved to fraternally share anything he might have obtained by the chase. Finally, when Pete charged his brother with the unkindness alluded to, and Jim looked dreadfully confused, Pete’s suspicions were fully confirmed.
The next morning Jim and his horse were absent, ascertaining which fact, the irate Peter started in pursuit. For several days he traced his brother, and finally learned that he was at a hotel on the Iowa border. The landlord said that he couldn’t be seen; he, and a handsome young fellow, with a big trunk, and a tall, thin man, and ex-Judge Bates, were busy together, and had left word they weren’t to be disturbed for a couple of hours on any account. Could Pete hang about the door of the room, so as to see him as soon as possible?—he was his brother. Well, yes; the landlord thought there wouldn’t be any harm in that.
The unscrupulous Peter put his eye to the keyhole; he saw the sheriff daintily dressed, and as pretty a lady as ever was, in spite of her short hair; he heard the judge say:
“By virtue of the authority in me vested by the State of Iowa, I pronounce you man and wife;” and then, with vacant countenance, he sneaked slowly away, murmuring:
“That’s the sort of reward he got, is it? And,” continued Pete, after a moment, which was apparently one of special inspiration, “I’ll bet that’s the kind of deer he said he was goin’ fur on the morning after the chase.”