Langford had ridden in from the ranch on purpose to see Judge Dale. His clothes were spattered with mud. There had been a succession of storms, lasting for several days; last night a cloud had burst out west somewhere. All the creeks were swollen.
“Judge, I believe Jesse Black has been on that island of his all the time.”
“What makes you think so, Langford?”
“Because our sheriff is four-flushing—he always was in sympathy with the gang, you know. Besides, where else can Black be?”
Dale puckered his lips thoughtfully.
“What have you heard?” he asked.
“Rumors are getting pretty thick that he has been seen in that neighborhood on several occasions. It is my honest belief he has never left it.”
“What did you think of doing about it, Langford?”
“I want you to give me a bench warrant, Judge. I am confident that I can get him. It is the shame of the county that he is still at large.”
“You have to deal with one of the worst and most desperate outlaws in the United States. You must know it will be a very hazardous undertaking, granting your surmises to be correct, and fraught with grave peril for some one.”