As they were finishing the meal there came a knock at the door, and on opening it the policeman was surprised to see Pryce and two other riders outside. Benton closed the door behind him and stepped forward. The rancher seemed oppressed with a certain shamefacedness, and fidgeted nervously with his quirt.
“Sargint,” he began. “I guess I kinder riled yu’ yesterday—actin’ as I did—but I was fair mad, an’ I—well, it’s that cursed temper o’ mine gets th’ better o’ me. I ask yu’ to try an’ forgit it.”
“Oh, that’s all right, Pryce,” said Ellis shortly. “I’m glad yu’ve come around, anyways, as I was just figurin’ how I was goin’ to get word to yu’ to come inta Sabbano.” And in a few words he acquainted the other with an account of the previous night’s adventures.
“Well, yu’ do surprise me!” exclaimed Pryce wonderingly and, with rising wrath: “Why, Big George, an’ Scotty—I always give ’em th’ run o’ my place as if they belonged there, whenever they come a-ridin’ around. Why! come to think o’ it, three days before my outfit was stole, I ’member meetin’ up with Scotty in th’ Four-mile coulee; we was both lookin’ for strayed stock—an’ I mind tellin’ him as me an’ th’ woman figured on drivin’ inta Sabbano on th’ Thursday, an’ he asked me to bring him some Bull-Durham ’baccer from there. Guess I forgot it. Anyways, Big George, he was around about a week afterwards, an’ listen! He had th’ gall to tell th’ woman as how what a dirty deal it was to rustle a feller’s outfit, an’ what th’ parties deserved as did it. Where was them hawsses all th’ time, d’yu’ think, Sargint, before they sold ’em to th’ old man, I mean?”
“Staked out in th’ bush somewheres, I guess,” said Benton. “They’ve both o’ ’em got touches o’ rope-burn around th’ fetlocks. Say, who’s yore friends, Pryce?”
“Two fellers as kin swear to my outfit,” replied the rancher. “I brought ’em around to see it.” And, turning, he introduced the men to the Sergeant.
“Well, put yore hawsses up an’ come on in,” said Ellis. “Don’t yu’ get a-talkin’ to th’ prisoners mind, though,” he added. “Least said, soonest mended. We figure on pullin’ out in ’bout an hour’s time.”
A clatter of wheels disturbed them and, turning, they beheld a wagon and team approaching, driven by none other than old Bob Tucker. There was something irresistibly funny in the excited motions of the dissipated, elderly Jehu, as he urged his team forward with an unending string of Afrikander expletives, which made them all burst out laughing.
“Eyck! Eyck! Azi-wan-n! Ari-tsemah! Hamba-ké!” he bawled.
The policeman stepped forward and held up his hand as the sweating horses drew near.