The journey townward continued.
When nearing their destination, they were joined by two more horsemen, Brenchfield––his left foot heavily bound round the ankle––and one of his white ranch hands. The Mayor was surly as usual and seemed in desperation to get in touch with Chief Palmer, who obligingly dropped behind with him. As they brought up the rear, they indulged in a very earnest conversation.
When the wagons were safely harboured in the Police Yard and the thieves safely jailed under lock and key, the Chief, as if to make amends for his previous surliness, shook hands all round and congratulated the men on their coup.
“This will help to make an interesting calendar for the next Assizes, boys. I’ll be after all of you for witnesses, so don’t get on the rampage anywhere in between times.”
“I guess, Morrison, old chap,” broke in Brenchfield, “this will end the flour and feed racket for some time to come. We fellows will have a chance to make a little profit out of our businesses at last.”
“Oh, you haven’t much to worry over,” replied Morrison. “You haven’t all your eggs in one basket like I have. It is just pin-money for you, but it means bread and butter and bed for me and mine.”
Brenchfield steered his horse alongside and laid his hand sympathetically on the old man’s shoulder.
“Never mind, Morrison! It is all over now,––so here’s to better days.”
Morrison was not very responsive, and the Mayor excused himself on the plea of his ankle, his want of sleep and the further pressure of mayoral business.