“By golly, that must ’a’ been him at the Red Hill mine. I was back on the hill and saw the rig drive up to the mine office. I never thought about it bein’ Soapy. A little later I was down at the office and talked with Barney Devine, but he never mentioned that Soapy had been there.”
As Brick manufactured this out of whole cloth, Meecham stepped over to the organ and arranged the scattered sheets of music. He turned back to Brick, nodding indifferently.
“Possibly he drove out there,” he said. “He didn’t say where he was going.”
“He wasn’t there long—if it was Soapy,” added Brick. “I seen ’em take something from the buckboard and take it into the office. They were in there just a minute, when one of ’em came out, got into the buckboard and drove back down the road. Well, I reckon I’ll be movin’, folks.”
“You ought to come to that dance Friday night,” urged Mrs. Meecham. “We’ll sure have a good time.”
“I’ll betcha yuh will,” smiled Brick. “I dunno whether I’ll have time or not. I’ve got a lot of work mapped out ahead of me and I’ll prob’ly be too busy.”
“Electioneering?” queried Meecham.
Brick thought there was just the hint of a sneer in the question.
“Nope. Just tryin’ to make good on what’s left of this term of office, Meecham.”
“Oh, I see. Well, come and see us again, sheriff.”