“I don’t know, brother. I went to the town, after I left you, and I—I asked a man where I could find the sheriff. He wanted to know what I wanted him for and I said I wanted to talk to him on business. I left there, and in a few minutes some men overtook me and brought me here. They tied me up and left two men to guard me. One of the men told me that if I ever seen the sheriff it would be after the sheriff had died and joined me.”
We led the old man outside and showed him the wounded man.
“He’s the one what told me that,” says he. “What happened to him?”
“He stayed too long,” grins Hashknife. “We’ll tie him up in your place.”
This hombre has commenced to talk to himself, so we ties him to the bunk, where he won’t get loose for a while.
“You take the horse and round up the mule, Sleepy,” says Hashknife.
That wasn’t no job, being as the mule had sore feet. I took it back to the cabin and turned it over to the old man. Me and Hashknife doubles up on the bay horse and the three of us cut back to the main road again.
About a mile or so farther on we comes to the Sillman ranch. Hashknife points down the road and says to the old man:
“Keep on this road, pardner, until yuh come to the sign where we first met yuh, then yuh turn to the left. Silverton is about twenty miles.”
“I wants to thank yuh, son,” says he. “Wants to thank both of yuh for what yuh done fer me. I’m gettin’ kinda old and so forth—but——”