“A-a-a-aw, shut up!” The sheriff was too mad to say anything more.
The stranger had ridden up closer to them, and was listening with an amused smile. He was a well-dressed, middle-aged sort of person, rather hard-faced.
“I got out of that pretty lucky,” he said, “I happened to be just outside the crash.”
“Well, I didn’t,” said Porter ruefully. “Any old time there’s a crash—I’m in it. Boys,” he turned to Johnny Grant, “this is Mr. Wade, the detective for the express company.”
The boys of the AK looked Wade over critically, but the keen scrutiny of these sons of the range did not embarrass Wade. He was what is know as “hard-boiled.”
“Hyah,” nodded Johnny Grant. “What do yuh know?”
“Not very much,” admitted Wade. “What do you know?”
“I know m’ head,
I know m’ feet,
I know you’ll soon