“Why, he kidnapped that good kind citizen Sam Dutch, a man who hadn’t murdered but fourteen or fifteen people, and who never packed more’n two guns an’ a pig-sticker at one time,” the sheriff said dryly. “Such lawlessness sure ought to be punished severe. I’d say send this McClintock fellow to Congress or somethin’ like that. Make a sure enough example of him.”
Jim waddled into the dining room. His eye fell on the devastation of the supper table. If he noticed the extra plate at the table he made no comment upon it. Neither did the deputies. The sheriff had hand-picked them carefully. Little Bennie followed, wriggling with excitement. Up to date this was the big adventure of his young life.
Jim’s eyes asked a question of his wife and received an answer. He learned from the wireless that had passed between them that his instructions had been carried out.
“Look through the kitchen and the hen house, boys,” the sheriff gave orders. “Then we’ll move upstairs. I don’t reckon he could be here without Mrs. Budd knowin’ it. But the way to make sure is to look.”
They presently trooped upstairs. While the deputies were searching the bedrooms Budd puffed up to the garret. In order to establish his identity he sang a solo:
“Old dog Tray ever faithful
Grief cannot drive him away.
He’s gentle and he’s kind,
And you’ll never, never——”
The sheriff opened the door of the attic and stepped in. Hugh was straddling a chair with his elbows across the back of it. He grinned at his friend.