“I don’t believe she did. Some folks seemed to think that Prentice married her to get some of it. But I guess Len was too wise for all of them. He’s no fool. Some day he’ll dig up all that money, disappear out of the country and have a nice bunch of cash to start in business for himself.”
All of that was merely conjecture, and Hashknife left Baker’s office no wiser than he had been before. As far as he could learn from talking with the residents of Lobo Wells, they considered Len guilty of all three robberies, and it was the general opinion that some day Len would dig up the twenty-two thousand dollars and leave the country.
Hashknife wondered what Amos Baggs would have to say about his near assassination and as he left the little courthouse he decided to talk with Baggs. The buckboard, carrying Nan, little Larry and Whispering, was just leaving town as Hashknife came out on the street.
He paid no attention to whose equipage it was, but sauntered up the street to Baggs’s office, shoved the door open and walked in. Baggs was slumped down in his chair, his collar loose on one end and standing up past one ear, his necktie torn. He lifted a scarlet face and stared at Hashknife. There were plenty of welts in evidence, attesting to the fact that Len was heavy of hand.
“What’s the matter with you—smallpox?” asked Hashknife.
Baggs heaved himself up from his chair, fairly spitting with rage, not realising that Hashknife did not know what had happened.
“Get out of here!” he croaked. “Get out! By God, I’ll be well paid for this! I’ll kill somebody! I’ll⸺”
“You act as though yuh was mad,” said Hashknife calmly.
“Get out! Don’t talk to me! Will you leave this office?”
“Shore. I’ll tell the sheriff, so that he can come up and tie yuh to a tree.”