Phil added, bending forward and shading her eyes with her hand.
Whittlesey, knowing Phil well, laughed his appreciation absently.
"He's been dodgin' up and down the creek here for two days, trying to muster nerve enough to hit the trolley and clear out. There's a nice bunch of plunder in his suit-case."
"Rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief?" Phil repeated—touching the buttons on her shirt-waist.
"That would be tellin'."
"Well, don't tell, then. But not mentioning any names that particular person wouldn't be likely to hang around here," suggested Phil meditatively.
The sheriff eyed her critically.
"You know who I mean? Sure you ain't seen him?"
"No, I haven't, Jack," replied Phil truthfully.
"If you spot a gent with a suit-case, hop for a telephone and call the jail, and mebbe I'll whack the reward."