“Jist try and remember,” urged Johnny. “Try and recall the fact that you got mad at us and took ’em away.”
“Aw-w-w, ——!” snorted Scotty vacantly. “I can’t remember nothin’ of the kind.”
“I’ll betcha,” said Oyster seriously, “I’ll betcha he’s got ’em in one of his cells.”
“Aw-w-w-w!” Scotty goggled at him.
“That’s a —— of a thing to say. Put a horse in a cell!”
“Mind if we look?” queried Johnny.
“Well, of all the drunken ideas! No, I don’t care if yuh look. ——, yuh can’t put a horse in a cell!”
He turned on his heel and led them to the rear of the building, where a series of three cells had been built in, leaving a corridor down the center. The doors were heavily barred and fitted with spring locks. Just now there were no occupants in the Blue Wells jail, and the doors sagged partly open. Scotty, half-angry, more than half disgusted, swung the door of the first cell wide open and stepped partly inside, turning to let the cowboys see for themselves that there were no horses in the cell, when Eskimo seemed to stumble, flung his weight against the door, which promptly snapped shut, locking the sheriff in his own cell.
“Hey! You —— fool!” yelled Scotty. “Whatcha tryin’ to do, anyway?”
“Look what you done!” wailed Johnny. “You’ve locked the sheriff in his own jail. Now, you’ve done it. My, my!”