"If you Tin Cup men haven't got sense enough to keep from being skinned," remarked the sheriff, "you ought to be done out of your eyeteeth. And, furthermore, you haven't any call to chase the man that was too sharp for you and try to run him out of the country. You fellows at the Tin Cup are a heap too lawless. I've had my eye on you for quite a spell. The money goes to the man that took it. Here, stranger! I'm not approving of the way it was come by, mark you, but, so far as the ethics of this case are concerned, the money is yours."
"I don't want it," was the astounding response from Newt Prebbles. "I'm a different man from what I was when I got that away from the Tin Cup fellows."
The sheriff stared, then calmly dropped the bag into his own pocket.
"I'll accept the donation," said he, "and pass it along to the Bismarck Orphan Asylum. Now, Spearman," and he stepped over and tapped the foreman on the chest, "I wish I could take you to town with me for planning to release a badly wanted man. But I can't. All I can say is that I've got my eye on you. Scatter out of this. That will be about all."
The Tin Cup men "scattered." As the galloping hoofs died away in the distance, Lieutenant Cameron stepped over and caught Matt's hand.
"I guess I was of some use, after all, eh, Matt? You fellows have had most of the fun, but I managed to get here in time to save you some unpleasantness."
"You did," answered Motor Matt gratefully, wringing the brave fellow's hand. "You've saved the prisoner, and made it possible for Prebbles' son to get to the post in time to——"
"Wait," interrupted Cameron, pulling a yellow slip from his pocket. "That reached me just as the sheriff and I were leaving Bismarck."
Matt took the telegram. It was brief, but terribly to the point.
"Prebbles can't last more than twenty-four hours, at the outside. Useless to bring his son."