“Take it easy, kid,” said Hashknife. “Set down here on the curb and tell us about it.”
“I can’t,” Jimmy shook his head nervously. “I’ve got to keep going. They’re after me, don’t you see?”
“All right, kid. If they’re after you, this is a fine place for ’em to get you.”
“But I can’t stay here, Hashknife.”
“Sure yuh can, Jimmy. Let’s talk it over. Runnin’ away won’t help yuh none. You’d lose out.”
Geronimo came into the patio, dust-covered, his tongue hanging out, tail wagging. Jimmy had set a hot pace from town, but the dog had found him. He sat down on his haunches in front of Jimmy and put a paw on Jimmy’s knee.
“Where’d the dog come from?” asked Sleepy.
Jimmy looked at Geronimo, and Geronimo looked at Jimmy.
“He is my dog,” said Jimmy slowly. “It’s the dog they had in jail—the evidence against Taylor.”
“Your dog, Jimmy?” asked Hashknife.