“Uh-huh. You sure are good in emergencies. Give up, run, or shoot myself. Any damn fool could give that advice.”
“Then keep on looking for Cloudy McGee. That’s your last chance. He might show up, you know.”
“Where there’s life there’s hope,” sighed Amos. “I’ll do it. In the meantime, you think of something, Put.” Amos went back to the street, hoping against hope.
Amos Weed was the first one to spot the stranger with the big hat and the silver-studded hat-band. He remembered that the reward notice had mentioned the fact that Cloudy McGee wore that kind of a hat. Amos was both frightened and thrilled. He saw the stranger go into the War Path saloon; so he went to the hitch-rack and looked at the stranger’s horse.
On the back of the saddle cantle was the single initial M, in a silver letter. M must stand for McGee, reasoned Amos. He rather thrilled at the thoughts of meeting a man like Cloudy McGee, who flaunted his big hat and an initialed saddle before all the sheriffs, who would be only too glad of a chance to gather him in and collect the thousand dollar reward.
Amos sauntered back to the saloon door, and met the stranger, who was just coming out. He glanced sharply at Amos and started across the street, with Amos trotting at his heels. The man stopped and looked at Amos. It was dark out there, and Amos’ knees smote together, but he summoned up his remaining nerve.
“Mr. McGee, can I talk with you for a minute?” he said.
The tall stranger started slightly. “What about?”
“Business,” Amos swallowed heavily. “But not here in the street,” he hastened to say. “Nobody knows who you are, except me. But you shouldn’t wear that big hat, you know.” It pleased Amos to give advice to Cloudy McGee.
But McGee didn’t seem to mind. He waited for Amos Weed to continue.