“I tell you that if McCoy led that raid there was no intention of killing Tait and Gilroy. I’ve known Mac twenty-five years. He’s white clear through.”
Ruth wheeled into the room instantly. She went straight to Flanders.
“Who says Rowan led that raid?” she demanded, white to the lips.
There was a long moment of silence. Then: “He’ll clear himself,” Flanders replied lamely.
The young wife had not known her husband was even suspected. She caught the back of a chair with a grip so tight that the knuckles lost their colour.
“Tell me—tell me what you mean.”
He tried to break it gently, but blundered out that the sheriff had to arrest somebody and had chosen McCoy among others.
“Where is he?” And when she knew: “Take me to him!” she ordered.
Flanders wasted no words in remonstrance. He agreed at once, and had his car waiting at the door before Ruth had packed her suitcase. Through the darkness he drove down the steep mountain road to Wagon Wheel.
By the time they reached town it was too late to get permission of the sheriff to see her husband that night, but Tim made arrangements by which she was to be admitted to his cell as soon as breakfast was over next morning.