“Go and get the keys out of my desk,” ordered the sheriff. “They’re in the top drawer.”
The three cowboys trooped obediently out through the office, extinguished the lamp, closed the door and stood on the edge of the sidewalk, chuckling with unholy glee.
“Let’s see if he put our broncs in his stable,” suggested Johnny. But the sheriff’s stable was empty. They went to the livery-stable and found it locked.
“How about visitin’ the preacher?” asked Eskimo.
“He never done it,” declared Oyster. “That jigger is too timid to go near a bronc. I’ll betcha that smart sheriff jist turned ’em loose on us, that’s what he done. We might as well git a room at the hotel, or walk back to the ranch.”
“I’ll walk,” said Eskimo. “I stayed one night at that old hotel and the bedbugs et holes in my boots.”
“Shall we let the sheriff loose before we go?” asked Oyster.
“Let ’m alone,” said Johnny. “Somebody will turn him loose after while, and I don’t want to be here when they do. Eskimo, if I was you, I’d buy a bottle to take along with us. It’s a long, hard walk.”
“That’s a pious notion,” declared Eskimo, and they went weaving back toward the Oasis.