Two miles out the sheriff, in a borrowed car, grimly seated at the driver's side, came bearing down upon them. The cars were halted long enough for the sheriff to take his place with Searle, and then they hastened on.
Christler had instantly seen that Van was wounded. He as quickly realized that to rush Van to town and medical attendance was the only possible plan.
He merely said, "You're hurt."
Van tried to smile. "Slightly punctured." He was rapidly losing strength.
Christler thought to divert him. He shouted above the purring of the car.
"Found Matt all right. I'm goin' to take him back to the State authorities in that convict suit that's hangin' 'round the store."
Van was instantly aroused. "No you don't Bill! No you don't! I've got use for those stripes myself. You'll buy Matt the best suit of clothes in town, and charge the bill to me."
If Bostwick heard, or understood, he did not make a sign. He was driving like a servant on the box, but he could not have stood on his feet.
They were nearing the town. A cavalcade of horsemen, drivers of buggies, and men on foot came excitedly trooping down the road to meet the short procession.
Despite his utmost efforts, Van was gone. Weak from the loss of blood and the shock, he could hold up his frame no longer.