The sheriff named them and Grace fixed the names in her mind.
“Con is the most dangerous of the lot,” Sheriff Collins informed her. “This isn’t all of the outfit by any means. The rest are in the hills somewhere. What do you reckon on doing now?”
“I hope that we may be able to get out on the trail with our ponies some time to-morrow.”
“Don’t plan to leave until the late afternoon. I shall need you to appear against these men to-morrow. Going over the trail, eh? You’ll need to keep your eyes peeled when you get up in the mountains again. Some of the critters still at large may take it into their heads to even up with you for this job you’ve done. Then, too, there’s some roving bands of trouble-hunting Apaches up there who are out with the excuse that they’re waiting for the hunting season to open. I’ll talk with you about that later.”
“Thank you, Sheriff. I leave the prisoners in your hands, but I should like to have their rifles, if you do not object.”
“Sure thing. You may need them, too. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Grace shook hands with Ike Fairweather and whispered to him that she would give him a check for whatever he considered the Deadwood stagecoach worth.
“Nothin’ doin’,” growled Ike. “Thet old coach wa’n’t worth ten dollars, an’ I’ve had about a million dollars’ worth of excitement out of this here trip. Wish I was goin’ to be with you on your pony journey, for I know you folks now. You’ll be stirrin’ up things the whole length of the Old Apache Trail, or my name ain’t Ike Fairweather.”
Promising to see Ike later on, Grace and Hippy hurried to the Dominion Hotel where Hippy’s wife and the other girls were anxiously awaiting them.
All hands then went to their rooms, bathed, and went to bed for a few hours’ sleep.