“We’ll get ’em from the other end—later. Let’s drift.”
Both Stickler and the professor were able to walk. Less than a quarter of a mile up the canyon they found the others. They unpacked the horses and tied Pete Gonyer to a saddle. He was in bad shape, as were the others, but they were able to get back to the grades.
They had the four pack-horses, and seven saddle-horses. The trail was bad, but they got up to the main road without mishap, just as the valley-bound stage came into view. The driver pulled up beside them and looked with amazement at the cavalcade.
Out from inside the stage came Tom Akers and two others of the Board of Commissioners, staring, mumbling. Akers said:
“What happened to Pete Gonyer? Conroy, what does this mean?”
“It means,” replied Henry wearily, “that we have busted up the high-graders—and Mr. Gonyer, whom you were going to appoint as sheriff in my stead, was the leader. Professor Fossil was here, merely to be able to ship samples back to his home—samples of Yellow Warrior gold. Mr. Stickler handled things for them at the mine. You see—”
“My God!” gasped Akers. “It can’t be true!”
“It looks true to me,” said one of the Commissioners dryly. “Congratulations, Sheriff Conroy.”
“I don’t understand,” complained Akers. “Pete Gonyer isn’t that sort of man. Why, I’d bet my soul—”
“If you do not mind, gentlemen,” interrupted Henry, “you will ride horseback the rest of the way, and we will use the stage as an ambulance. Later we will recover the Yellow Warrior gold.”