“Well,” said Slim sadly, “I reckon there ain’t nothin’ else for me to do.”
Jim Langley, Jess Fohl, and Roper Briggs had joined old Rance and Chuckwalla at the Red Arrow bar. Rance was getting drunkenly boastful.
“I’ve got ’em all fooled,” he told Langley. “If they put me in jail, I’ll never tell where the stuff is cached; sabe? Nossir, I’ll never tell. Fill ’em up. Hundred and thirty-two thousand dollars. Sixty-seven thousand in jewlry and diamonds. Whooee-e-e! And I won’t tell anybody where it is.”
“You’re an old fool,” said Chuckwalla.
“F’r not tellin’?”
“For talkin’ about it.”
Fifteen minutes later, when Slim Caldwell arrested Rance, the old man stared drunkenly at him and then tried to pull his gun. It was little trouble for Slim to take the gun away from him and start him toward the jail. Chuckwalla leaned against the bar, talking to himself, trying to understand what had taken place.
He finally got it straight in his mind, and the knowledge that Rance McCoy was in jail sobered him up. He got his legs to functioning fairly well and headed for the office, where he found the sheriff’s force, prosecuting attorney, Wells Fargo representative, Hashknife, and Sleepy.
“I’ve come to git him,” stated Chuckwalla, and then added seriously, “And I git what I aim to git, gents.”
“You better go home, Chuckwalla,” advised Slim kindly.