Reilly vanished, his face a picture of impotent malice, and Leroy continued:
“We’re going to the Rocking Chair in the morning, Mr. Collins—at least, you and Miss Mackenzie are going there. I’m going part way. We’ve arranged a little deal all by our lones, subject to your approval. You get away without that hole in your head. Miss Mackenzie goes with you, and I get in return the papers you took off Scotty and Webster.”
“You mean I am to give up the hunt?” asked Collins.
“Not at all. I’ll be glad to death to see you blundering in again when Miss Mackenzie isn’t here to beg you off. The point is that in exchange for your freedom and Miss Mackenzie’s I get those papers you left in a safety-deposit vault in Epitaph. It’ll save me the trouble of sticking up the First National and winging a few indiscreet citizens of that burgh. Savvy?”
“That’s all you ask?” demanded the surprised sheriff.
“All I ask is to get those papers in my hand and a four-hour start before you begin the hunt. Is it a deal?”
“It’s a deal, but I give it to you straight that I’ll be after you as soon as the four hours are up,” returned Collins promptly. “I don’t know what magic Miss Mackenzie used. Still, I must compliment her on getting us out mighty easy.”
But though the sheriff looked smilingly at Alice, that young woman, usually mistress of herself in all emergencies, did not lift her eyes to meet his. Indeed, he thought her strangely embarrassed. She was as flushed and tongue-tied as a country girl in unaccustomed company. She seemed another woman than the self-possessed young beauty he had met a month before on the Limited, but he found her shy abashment charming.
“I guess you thought you had come to the end of the passage, Mr. Collins,” suggested the outlaw, with listless curiosity.
“I didn’t know whether to order the flowers or not, but way down in my heart I was backing my luck,” Collins told him.