‘That’s old Briggs’s writin’,’ he declared. ‘I’d know it among a million.’
The other boys agreed with Spike.
‘That’s it,’ said Bert Roddy. ‘I know how he writes his name. But where is Pete’s wife? Nobody around here knows he ever had a wife.’
‘The tenderfoot is her son,’ said Hashknife. ‘We can prove it, can’t we, Lem?’
The big sheriff nodded quickly. ‘Somebody wired him when his wife died. We got a copy of the telegram.’
‘Pete never got it,’ said Joe Cave. ‘It came to the post-office, and Dave claimed it. He knowed that the kid was Pete’s son.’
‘Well, it’s all perfectly clear now,’ said Lem. ‘Ready to take a ride, Joe?’
‘It ain’t because I’m ready, Lem. Better get me a fresh horse. I had to circle to hell and gone across the river to get back from that mesa.’
‘Let’s all go down and congratulate the tenderfoot,’ suggested Spike, and, when Lem took his prisoner to Cañonville, there were nine other riders who accompanied them to the forks of the road.
They rode up to the ranch-house and trooped inside, where they found Rex humped down in a rocking-chair, his feet bandaged. Nan was in her room, but the uproar awoke her and she peered out at the wild-acting crowd.