Slim did not tell the Wells Fargo man about his suspicions in regard to Rance McCoy, but Merkle, the prosecutor, did, and the man came straight back to Slim about it.
“With all that evidence, why don’t you arrest him, sheriff?”
“I can,” said Slim. “But you’ll never get yore stuff back. Old Rance McCoy would see you and yore company in hell before he’d squawk. If you want to pay a hundred and thirty-two thousand dollars for puttin’ him in jail—it’s yore money. And if Merkle don’t quit blattin’ about what he knows, we’ll never get it.”
“The prosecutor wants a conviction, of course.”
“And you want the money back,” said Slim dryly. “Mebby you better tell Merkle to keep his mouth shut, eh?”
“Might be a good idea, sheriff.”
“Best in the world.”
Slim Caldwell left Chuck and Scotty at the office, saddled his horse and rode away. He thought of going down to the Circle Spade and having a heart-to-heart talk with old Rance, and was almost to the ranch before he decided to postpone it for a while.
And instead of going to see old Rance, he swung off to the right and went down to the big cut along the railroad. The coyotes and magpies had been busy at the carcass of their Exhibit A, and there was little left of it. Below the big cut, near Curlew Spur, was a crossing, where Slim crossed the tracks and headed for the Half-Box R. It was not over two miles to Butch Reimer’s ranch, and Slim found Butch at home with Billy DuMond. The rest of the crew were working.
Butch greeted the sheriff pleasantly enough, but his small eyes showed a certain curiosity over the sheriff’s visit. DuMond had not been to Red Arrow since Rance McCoy had practically run him out of town, and Slim thought he acted a trifle sheepish about it, although nothing was said about the incident.