“There ain’t much to tell, Peggy. A lone man met the cashier at the rear door of the bank, forced him back, made him open the vault and then roped and gagged the cashier. They say he got away with a lot of money. Wasn’t anybody hurt.”
“What was the description of that man, Hashknife?”
“Wasn’t any—much. Yuh see, it was dark in there.”
“Much?” sighed Peggy. “Oh, I know!” she suddenly blurted. “You try to cover it. Please don’t do that, Hashknife.”
Hashknife shook his head sadly.
“That cashier was probably scared stiff, Peggy. Power of suggestion made him see what the express messenger saw—the black leather cuffs with the silver stars. Discount all that stuff. Keep smilin’, I tell yuh. A-a-aw, shucks!”
Hashknife jumped to his feet and walked away. Peggy was crying, and Hashknife couldn’t stand tears. He went down and sat against the stable, his hat pulled down over his eyes. And he was still there when the sheriff and his men came back, bringing the body of the brakeman, strapped across the saddle of Jack Ralston’s horse, while Jack rode behind Kelsey. The body was covered with a dirty tarpaulin.
Hashknife went out to meet them, and Kelsey thanked him for the marker.
“It shore was well hidden,” he said, “and them rocks helped a lot. I reckon this will kinda swell the reward for Joe Rich, Hartley. This man was shot. Yuh can even see the powder marks on his coat, so it must ’a’ been close work. We’ll shore ask for Joe Rich dead or alive now.”
They rode on, and Hashknife leaned against the stable, his mind working swiftly. Dead or alive!