“Didn’t I tell yuh?” said Chuck. “I said all along that we ought to go careful. They want them packages back. Betcha anythin’ yuh want to bet, they got away with a million.”
“With all yore hindsight, it’s a wonder to me that you never amounted to somethin’,” growled Slim. “They never got any million dollars, but they did get enough for the express company to advise movin’ carefully.”
They mounted their horses and rode back to the courthouse, where Slim had a conference with Albert Merkle, the prosecuting attorney. Merkle was as round as a barrel, with a face like a full moon, serving his first term as county prosecutor and taking his position very seriously.
Merkle read the telegram, listened closely to what Slim had to tell him, and then propounded wisely:
“That evidence won’t last long unless we take steps to protect it, Slim. A couple of nights, and the coyotes will ruin it for our use.”
“Well, we can’t file it away in my office,” protested Slim.
“No, that’s true. I’ll go out with you and look at it.”
They secured a horse for Merkle at the livery stable, and headed back toward the scene of the robbery. Merkle wanted to have Rance McCoy arrested at once, but Slim demurred.
“Wait’ll we find out what he got, Al. It was a one-man job, and if he got a big haul, he’s got it planted. He’ll never confess, and he’ll never tell where the stuff is hid.”
“My end of the affair is only interested in a conviction, Slim.”