It’s about midnight when we arrives at the Cross J. The old man is in the bunk-house, and he looks us over, sad-like.
“What are you fellers trying to do?” he asks. “The sheriff sure is one sore person. Says he can prove that one or both of you was mixed up in that robbery.”
“Aw ——!” snorts Chuck. “I thought it was the right box.”
“It was. McGuire identified it. The question is this: you knowed where the box was—where are the contents? That’s what Paradise wants to know.”
“Paradise ain’t got nothing on us, eh, Chuck?” says I. “If they wanted to know any worse than we do they’d all be sick.”
Me and Chuck talks it all over and decides that the longer we’re out of jail the more they’ll have against us when we do get in, so we decide to give ourself up before we’re liable to capital punishment.
The next morning we rides away to be locked up in self-defense. Just outside of Paradise we overtakes an Injun. He’s jogging along on a glass-eyed pinto, and he grins when he sees Chuck. Chuck stands in with all the aborigines.
“Hello, Tenas Charley,” grins the buck.
“Hello, Hiawatha,” grins Chuck. “Where you go so early?”
“You sabe Doc Milliken?”