So Hal sat, and the marshal went to his desk, and took up the telephone. “Number seven,” he said, and waited a moment. “That you, Tom? Bring the car right away.”
He hung up the receiver, and there followed a silence; finally Hal inquired, “I'm going to Pedro?”
There was no reply.
“I see I've got on your nerves,” said Hal. “But I don't suppose it's occurred to you that you deprived me of my money last night. Also, I've an account with the company, some money coming to me for my work? What about that?”
The marshal took up the receiver and gave another number. “Hello, Simpson. This is Cotton. Will you figure out the time of Joe Smith, buddy in Number Two, and send over the cash. Get his account at the store; and be quick, we're waiting for it. He's going out in a hurry.” Again he hung up the receiver.
“Tell me,” said Hal, “did you take that trouble for Mike Sikoria?”
There was silence.
“Let me suggest that when you get my time, you give me part of it in scrip. I want it for a souvenir.”
Still there was silence.
“You know,” persisted the prisoner, tormentingly, “there's a law against paying wages in scrip.”