"About half an hour," answered Matt.
"I reckon that's long enough."
McKibben walked to the steps and ascended to the front door. Just as he was about to lay his hand on the knob, the door opened and Bascomb shambled out.
He hardly looked like the same man. His shoulders were drooping forward, his head was bowed, and his face was heavy with grief. McKibben stepped up beside him and laid a hand on his shoulder. Bascomb started at the touch and lifted his head passively.
"Well?" said he, in a low tone.
"You're under arrest, Dangerfield," said McKibben.
Matt and Clip hardly believed their ears. Dangerfield! Had McKibben made a mistake?
"Nothing much matters now, McKibben," returned the prisoner wearily. He held out his hands, wrists together. "I'm not armed, and I wouldn't make you any trouble if I was."
A pair of handcuffs were snapped into place, and the sheriff tucked a hand under his prisoner's arm and led him down from the porch.
"All right, Sparks!" called the sheriff.