“Well, I didn’t know it was that bad. I’ll sure keep my eyes open—and you better do the same. I told Slim just what I told you. Glover would kill yuh, if he thought yuh owned that gray horse. You take my advice—and shoot first.”
“Well, I’m not goin’ out to find him, if that’s what yuh mean, Reimer.”
Slim was interested in Hashknife’s story of seeing Kid Glover. Merkle had been down to see him, demanding more action from the sheriff’s office.
“I’ve either got to arrest somebody pretty soon, or I’ll take a punch at Merkle and resign my office,” declared Slim. “I don’t even know where to start in. It’s all mixed up.”
Hashknife agreed with Slim. There did not seem to be anything to work on.
“Don’tcha know anythin’?” wailed Slim. “I admit that I ain’t got no brains, Hashknife. The only thing I can think of doin’ is to take a shot at everybody and then go on a long vacation. I’m gettin’ jumpy, I tell yuh.”
But Hashknife could offer no clues. He had a few theories of his own regarding things; but nothing for a sheriff to work on. Chuckwalla and his two men had left town about noon, and about two hours later Monty Adams rode back and came to the sheriff’s office.
“Here’s a funny deal,” he told Slim. “While we was all in town this mornin’, somebody got into the ranch-house and upset the whole place. I dunno what they was lookin’ for, but they shore searched the old place. Even tore the blankets off the beds and smashed open an old trunk.”
Slim shook his head wearily.
“Burglars, too, eh? By God, the next thing we know, we’ll be havin’ our pockets picked. What would anybody search the Circle Spade for?”