"Rube an' I, we ain't gettin' anyways tired of each other's company," Kiddie remarked when the meal was over and Isa was taking out his pipe. "All the same, Sheriff, we're main glad ter see you. Got any news?"
"News?" Isa was lighting his pipe. "No, thar ain't a whole lot. Things is kinder quiet along the trail, an' you ain't missin' a great deal of excitement. I'm told as Broken Feather's bin seen about again. Seems he's bin laid up f'r a while back with the bullet wound you gave him. But he ain't bin interferin' none, an' in any case, he don't come within my jurisdiction. Nick Undrell's different."
"What about Nick Undrell?" Kiddie asked.
"That fetches me up against the point," returned Isa. "That's the business brought me on your trail. But before we drag in Nick, I'll start at the beginnin'. I don't doubt you remember the name of Sanson T. Wrangler."
"Yes," Kiddie affirmed, "he kept a prosperous general store in Laramie. Used to sell very good candy an' a variety of temperance drinks, includin' a special brew of lemon squash, of which delectable beverage I've consumed some quarts."
"That's the man," resumed Isa. "But 'tain't just c'rrect ter call Sanson prosperous. Thar's a heap of competition in the temp'rance drink line, an' the retailin' of candy don't represent a gold mine. Sanson T. Wrangler's store hasn't flourished since the time he was in Leavenworth hospital for an operation. His speculations was unfortunate. He lost a heap of dollars an' got inter debt. His chief creditor threatened law proceedings against him if he didn't shell out slick. Ter meet his liabilities he sold out a quantity of his stock. He borrowed where he could, an' one way with another, he accumulated enough capital ter pay that debt on the stipulated date, which was last Monday. Are you listenin', Kiddie? You're gazin' up inter them clouds as if you was composin' a poem to 'em, 'stead of cipherin' out the problem I'm puttin' in front of you."
"I assure you I'm all attention, Isa," Kiddie averred. "I expect you're going to tell me now that Sanson T. Wrangler got foolin' around in some low down gamblin' saloon and lost that pile of dollars over a game of poker. What?"
"No," continued Isa, "that wasn't the way of it; though I allow he was in Brierley's saloon Saturday night, boastin' to his friends about how he'd rounded up the cash, and had locked it away in his iron safe back of the store. On Sunday he didn't show up at meetin': nobody saw him all day. Next mornin' his store wasn't opened as usual. The matter was put inter my hands, an' I entered the premises t' investigate. First thing I see was Sanson T. Wrangler's iron safe standin' open an' empty, th' account books an' papers bein' flung around in disorder. Second thing was Sanson T. Wrangler hisself lyin' huddled up in a corner 'f th' room, gagged an' apparently unconscious."
"Why 'apparently'?" questioned Kiddie.
"Didn't move, didn't make no sound," explained the sheriff. "When I turned him over he was kinder mazy, didn't know where he was or what had occurred, an' was like as he was sick. Afterward, however, he was able t' give a circumstantial account of the robbery. His wife an' daughter'd gone away to St. Louis. He was livin' alone in th' emporium. Sunday evenin' he was on the point of goin' out ter meetin' when, on openin' the door, he caught sight of two masked men—strangers, so far's he c'n tell, though he'd an idea as to the identity of one of 'em. They dropped on him instanter; a pair of arms was flung around him, and a cloth that had a sickly sweet smell, like the stuff given him in hospital t' send him asleep, was clapped over his head. He struggled, but was soon overpowered, dragged across the floor, and deposited unconscious in the darkest corner of the room. It was while I was present that he first come ter know that his thief-proof safe had been opened and that his pile of greenbacks had been stolen. The safe had been opened with the key hidden back of the tobacco jar on his writin' desk."