"Well, that's all right. We'll get him. I'll go into town first thing in the morning and get out a warrant for him."
He went, but the next evening back he returned, looking very surly and disgruntled.
"Well, what about the warrant?" said Hoofman.
"Didn't get it."
"Didn't get——"
"No, didn't get it," snapped Ribwood. "Look here, Hoofman, I met Locasto. Black Jack says Pat was cached away, dead to all the world, in the backroom of the Omega Saloon all night. There's two loafers and the barkeeper to back him up. What can we do in the face of that? Say, young feller, I guess you mistook your man."
"I guess I did not," I protested stoutly.
They both looked at me for a moment and shrugged their shoulders.