“Well, he’s goin’ to hear from me,” declared the sheriff.
“Write him a letter,” grinned one of the men in the crowd.
“He was pretty drunk,” offered the merchant.
“He wasn’t too drunk to shoot straight,” said Scotty. “I’m promisin’ yuh right now that the next time that AK outfit comes to Blue Wells, I’m packin’ a riot gun. Blue Wells has stood all it’s ever goin’ to from that layout. And,” he added, “I don’t care a —— who knows it.”
Lee Barnhardt turned on his heel and walked back to his office. Chet Le Moyne and Dug Haley, the man who had come with Le Moyne to guard the Santa Rita pay-roll, rode in and drew up in front of the store. Haley was a heavy-set, stolid looking person, with a wispy mustache and only a faint suggestion of ever having had eyebrows.
Le Moyne smiled and spoke to the men, but Haley merely nodded.
“I wanted to see you, Scotty,” said Le Moyne. “Goin’ back to your office pretty soon?”
“Right away, Le Moyne.”
Le Moyne nodded and rode beside the sheriff down to the office, while Haley tied his horse in front of the store, and went in to make some purchases. Le Moyne tied his horse and went into the office with the sheriff.
“What do you know, Scotty?” asked Le Moyne.