“But—but—” stammered the deputy.
The sheriff was coming in the back door, herding Ferdinand P. Putney ahead of him. He stared at the tableau. The damp-nosed stranger swung his back against the wall, half-facing the sheriff. For several moments things were rather deadlocked.
“Who are you?” asked the stranger with the cold.
“I’m the sheriff!” snapped Jim Potter.
“And I’ve got you, Cloudy McGee!” snorted Caldwell addressing the damp-nosed stranger, and covering him. “Drop that gun!”
The man addressed dropped his gun and Caldwell picked it up, but before anyone could stop him, the damp-nosed man had made a sudden dive and knocked the original McGee off his feet, and was sitting on him.
“For heck’s sake, what’s this all about?” demanded the sheriff, coming toward them, still clinging to Ferdinand P. Putney.
“Pud ha’d-cuffs on him, I tell you!” snapped the damp-nosed man. “This is Cloudy McGee.”
“Yo’re crazy!” roared the sheriff. “Yo’re McGee yourself.”
“You thig so?” The damp-nosed man turned back the lapel of his soiled vest and showed them the badge of a deputy U. S. marshal. “By nabe is Morton,” he said thickly. “I hobe you’re sadisfied.”