"We'll go," said Sam Larder decidedly. "I ain't a heap attracted by your methods with the ladies, and I intend to see the girl gets a square deal."
"Me too," chimed in Felix Craft.
The district attorney was none too well pleased and showed it. "I'll get two other jiggers then," he grumbled.
"Why not another posse?" suggested the sarcastic Mr. Larder. "Us three might not be able to handle her by ourselves."
"Suppose Bill Wingo is there, then what? We took a big bunch before and——"
"And got damwell laughed at by the whole town for our trouble," snapped Sam. "Serves us right. Wild goose chase, anyway, and to-night will be another. C'mon, if you're goin'."
The moon was high in the heavens when the three men came to the mouth of the draw leading to the Walton ranch. A quarter-mile up this draw they came upon a man standing beside a horse. This man they surrounded immediately. He proved to be the town marshal, Red Herring, engaged in the prosaic business of tightening a slipped cinch.
"What are you doing here," demanded the district attorney.
"Same thing you're doing," the marshal returned sulkily.
"It ain't necessary for you to be watching the Walton ranch," said the crotchety district attorney.