“Scand’lous!” gurgled Hiram, horror-stricken.
McGlory leaned toward Matt.
“Put on full speed, pard,” he whispered excitedly, “and let’s snake ’em out into the country.”
But Matt shook his head and started the car slowly into the village.
All the inhabitants of the place, Matt judged, had been drawn to the scene of the “arrest.” Men, women, children, and dogs clustered around the car, and proceeded with it as it took its melancholy way along the street.
“There’s the place,” said Hawkins, pointing, “that two-story red buildin’ on the right. Hardware store on the first floor and the jail’s upstairs.”
Matt steered for the curb, and halted the car at the edge of the walk, then Hawkins took him in charge, Hiram looked after McGlory, and the motor boys were led toward an outside stairway by which they were to climb to the “jail.”
The cowboy, halting at the foot of the stairs, renewed his desperate attempt to get permission to send his telegram. Hiram spoke harshly, Hawkins put in a few warm words, and the crowd jeered. Then McGlory gave up, and followed Hawkins and Matt as they climbed the stairs.
The second floor of the building was partitioned into two rooms. A sign proclaimed that the front room was occupied by a “Justice of the Peace,” while another sign, bearing the one word, “Jail,” set forth the uses to which the rear room was put.
Matt and McGlory, it appeared, were the only occupants of the jail. The room was meagrely furnished, with a table, a cot, and two chairs, and there were two grated windows overlooking the rear of the premises.