There were but three men in the office—Jordan, Isaacs and the clerk.
The moment the scout entered the room a load of anxiety seemed to drop from the sky pilot’s shoulders. He started toward the scout with outstretched hand.
“I’m more than glad to see you, Buffalo Bill!” he exclaimed. “Our friend Nate is the victim of some dastardly plot, and circumstantial evidence is all against him.”
“Let’s go to the jail and see him, Jordan,” said the scout.
“The sheriff won’t allow any one to see him.”
“I reckon he’ll let me.”
“He says he won’t let a soul into the jail to-night. But here’s some one else you can talk with—Abraham Isaacs, the man from whom the diamonds were taken.”
The scout whirled on Isaacs. Under his searching eyes, the Jew lowered his face. The two hands that held his battered satchel on his knees trembled perceptibly. In three strides the scout was at the Jew’s side.
“Your name is Abraham Isaacs, is it?” he demanded sharply.
“Yah, so,” the Jew answered, keeping his eyes averted.