“Anything new, Matson?” demanded a young cow-puncher. “Don’t forget we’ve been off the map ’most three weeks. Who’s eloped, absconded, married, divorced, or otherwise played billiards with the Ten Commandments?”
Matson sat down tailor fashion and accepted the steak, bread, and coffee offered him.
“The only news on tap when I left town was that the Limited got in on time—yesterday. Few will believe it, but it’s an honest-to-goodness fact. We had it sworn to before a notary.”
CHAPTER XV
A HOT TRAIL
IT happened that Sheriff Matson was in the hills on official business and slept at Bovier’s Camp the night of the sheep raid. He was by custom an early riser. The sky was faintly pink with the warning of a coming sun when he stepped out of the house to wash in the tin basin outside the kitchen. As he dried his face on the roller towel there came to him the sound of dragging steps and laboured breathing.
Matson turned. A pallid little man sank down on the step and buried his face in his hands.
“What’s up?” demanded the officer.
The panting man lifted to him eyes which still mirrored the fear of death.