“Then what’s he doing, hiding here?” questioned Hubbard incredulously. “Mebbe you can explain that.”
“Yes, yes,” faltered Fred, “perhaps—I can.”
“Don’t try it,” implored the prisoner quickly. “It won’t do any good, Fred; they wouldn’t believe you. I should have gone away yesterday and saved you all this trouble.”
“It’s awful,” choked young Sage—“awful for you! Oh, what made you come here at all!”
“Simply because I was a fool and couldn’t keep away,” was the bitter answer.
“This ain’t no place to chin it over,” said the constable sharply. “It’s my business to lodge this here gent in the lockup, and I’m going to do so jest about as quick as I can.”
“Wait a minute,” pleaded Fred. “My mother doesn’t know. She’s in the house. Doubtless she’s in terror now because of all these armed men around the place. Wait two minutes, until I can go inside and prevent her from looking out of the window when you take Clar—this man away. Won’t you do that much, Mr. Hubbard?”
“I don’t see no reason why I shouldn’t. Go ahead, young feller, and soothe down your mammy. I’ll give ye jest two minutes, and then we’ll march this feller off to the caboose.”
Flinging a final resentful look at Piper, Fred hurried into the house. Sleuth, preening himself proudly, could not refrain from giving Hooker another jab.
“You did a good thing for yourself, Hook,” he sneered. “By going back on me, you cut yourself out of any share in the reward money. We’ve got the feller who calls himself James Wilson; there’s no doubt about that. Furthermore, you must have observed that Fred called him Clarence, which fully confirms my deduction that Clarence Sage is not dead, although an unknown man was buried under that name.”