“Not a bit, Dillon; just a hunch.”
“You mean—you bluffed? How did yuh find the girl?”
“Imagination,” smiled Hashknife. “I had their tickets, and I knew they never left here. Where could they go, I wondered. What better place than the Prentice home, owned by Cole? They had to be fed. I saw a Chinaman bring a tray here. That would solve the problem. So we hid out there to-night and watched a tray come in. When that swamper took it to the Prentice house I had to bat him over the head, and it almost ruined things. But, as it was, it worked out right. Pollock was fool enough to try and warn Cole. The stage was all set when I came in, and they didn’t stop to realise that I didn’t have evidence. I didn’t ask questions, Dillon; I told ’em what they’d done—and they knew it was true.”
“Golly, but yo’re lucky! I’d never ’a’ thought of that.”
“Yeah, I’m lucky. It’s shore hard work, buildin’ up luck.”
Hashknife turned and started to walk out. On the bar rail sat Whispering and Sailor, dead to the world. Whispering had an arm thrown around Sailor’s shoulders and they were both snoring lustily.
“You boys can go home again,” said Hashknife softly, but they didn’t hear him.
He walked outside and crossed the street. In front of the sheriff’s office he found Nan, Len, and little Larry. Hashknife would have avoided them, but it was impossible. Len held out his hand and they gripped tightly.
“Dad never done nothin’ wrong,” said Larry. “Ain’t it great?”
“Shore is great, Larry,” replied Hashknife. “That fixes yuh up now.”