“Yes’m, I suppose they had that in mind. They kinda hate sheep-herders.”
“Was you herdin’ sheep, Skeeter Bill?”
“Nope. It was just a case of bein’ nice and handy to a sheep outfit, and no way t’ prove a alibi. Of course them fellers ain’t particular, Mrs. Porter. ’F they hated a laundry and caught me washin’ m’ shirt——”
“Whop!” exploded Mrs. Porter. “Don’t drag the dirty shirts into this, Skeeter Bill. Whatcha goin’ to do with the sheriff? ’F they catch yuh ag’in, won’t they send yuh to the penitentiary?”
“Yes’m—’f they don’t lynch me first; but I’ve gotta get help for the sheriff.”
“Well, yuh ain’t goin’ back to town,” declared Mrs. Porter. “You never murdered nobody, and you’re a fool to shove your neck into a handy rope. Vamoose while the travelin’ is wide open.”
“Uh-huh.”
Skeeter considered the idea thoughtfully.
“You can go to another country,” added Mary Leeds.
“Well, I’ve gotta get this sheriff— I know what I can do. By cripes, I’ll pack him to Kirk’s camp and let him haul Freel t’ Crescent City. ’F I ain’t mistaken, I can travel to the right and hit that sheep outfit dead center. You folks keep straight down the railroad, and you’ll hit Crescent City.”