"After all," approved Cameron, "that's the best way. But I'll warrant Matt can't find much to commend in Murgatroyd."
"He's old enough to know right from wrong," said Matt, "and now that he's made his bed, he's got to lie in it. Where did you find the sheriff, Cameron?"
"Wired him I was coming, and he met me at the train with a couple of riding horses. They couldn't remember anything definite at the post office, although one of the clerks had a hazy recollection that some one had called for a letter addressed to Hobbes. That's all we had to go on. We hit the trail and rode hard."
"Good thing you did. If you hadn't ridden so hard you might have got here too late."
"What a day this has been! I should think you fellows would be about fagged."
Before Matt could make any response, Newt Prebbles came out of the shack.
"I'm going, just the same," said he doggedly.
"There's no way you can get to the post in time, Prebbles," returned Cameron kindly.
"I'll get there, anyhow, whether I'm late or not. Good heavens! You don't understand what this means to me! You don't know——"
He bit his lips to keep back the emotion that grew with the words.