Hopalong Cassidy Sees Red

'' Sheriff Corwin was the first man to tell me that——and——robbed the Mesquite bank, and that——killed Tom Ridley. He will produce the prisoners, with the witnesses and other proof in Sandy Bend upon demand. If they are found guilty of the crime named the rewards belong to him.''

The trail-boss considered it thoughtfully. 'It looks fair; but there's one thing I don't like, Sheriff,' he said, putting his finger on the objectionable words and looking up. 'I don't like 'Sandy Bend.' I'm takin' no chances with them fellers. I'll just scratch that out, an' write in, 'to me.' How 'bout it?'

'They've got to have a fair trial,' replied Corwin. 'I'm standin' for no lynchin'. I can't do it.'

'Yo're shore right they're goin' to have a fair trial!' retorted the trail-boss. 'Twitchell ain't just lookin' for two men—he wants th' ones that robbed th' bank an' killed Ridley. You don't suppose he's payin' five thousan' out of his pocket for somebody that ain't guilty, do you? Why, they're goin' to have such a fair trial that you'll need all th' evidence you can get to convict 'em. Lynch 'em?' He laughed sarcastically. 'They won't even be jailed in Sandy Bend, where they shore would be lynched. You take 'em to Sandy Bend an' you'll be lynched out of yore reward. You know how it reads.'

Corwin scratched his head and a slow grin spread over his face. 'Cuss it, I never saw it that way,' he admitted. 'I guess yo're shoutin' gospel, Mac; but, cuss it, it ain't reg'lar.'

'You know me; an' I know you,' replied the trail-boss, smiling. 'There's lots of little things done that ain't exactly reg'lar; but they're plumb sensible. Suppose I change this here paper like I said, an' sign it. Then you write in th' names an' let me read 'em. Then you let me know what proof you got, an' bring down th' prisoners, an' I'll sign a receipt for 'em.'

'Yes!' exclaimed Corwin. 'I'll deputize you, an' give 'em into yore custody, with orders to take 'em to Sandy Bend, or any other jail which you think best. That makes it more reg'lar, don't it?' he smiled.

McCullough laughed heartily and slapped his thigh. 'That's shore more reg'lar. I'm beginnin' to learn why they elected you sheriff. All right, then; I'm signin' my name.' He took pen and ink from a shelf, made the change in the paper, sprawled his heavy-handed signature across the bottom and handed the pen to Corwin. 'Now, cuss it: Who are they?'

The sheriff carefully filled in the three blanks, McCullough peering over his shoulder and noticing that the form had been made out by another hand.

'There,' said Corwin. 'I'm spendin' that five thousand right now.'

''Bill Long'—'Red Thompson'—'Bill Long' again,' growled the trail-boss. 'Never heard of 'em. Live around here?'

Corwin shook his head. 'No.'

'All right,' grunted McCullough. 'Now, then; what proof you got? You'll never spend a cent of it if you ain't got 'em cold.'

Corwin sat on the edge of the table, handed a cigar to his host and lit his own. 'I got a man who was in th' north stable, behind Kane's, when th' shot that killed Ridley was fired from th' other stable. He was feedin' his hoss an' looked out through a crack, seein' Long sneak out of th' other buildin', Sharp's in hand, an' rustle for cover around to th' gamblin'-hall. Another man was standin' in th' kitchen, gazin' out of th' winder, an' saw Long turn th' corner of th' north stable an' dash for th' hotel buildin'. He says he laughed because Long's slight limp made him sort of bob sideways. An' we know why Long done it, but we're holdin' that back. That's for th' killin'.'

'Now for th' robbery: I got th' man that saw Long an' Thompson sneak out of th' front door of th' dinin'-room hall into that roarin' sand storm between eleven an' twelve o'clock on th' night of th' robbery. He says he remembers it plain because he was plumb surprised to see sane men do a fool thing like that. He didn't say nothin' to 'em because if they wanted to commit suicide it was their own business. Besides, they was strangers to him. After awhile he went up to bed, but couldn't sleep because of th' storm makin' such a racket. Kane's upstairs rocked a little that night. I know, because I was up there, tryin' to sleep.'

'Go on,' said the trail-boss, eagerly and impatiently, his squinting eyes not leaving the sheriff's face.

'Well, quite some time later he heard th' door next to his'n open cautious, but a draft caught it an' slammed it shut. Then Bill Long's voice said, angry an' sharp: 'What th' blazes you doin', Red? Tellin' creation about it?' In th' mornin', th' cook, who gets up ahead of everybody else, of course, was goin' along th' hall toward th' stairs an' he kicks somethin' close to Long's door. It rustles an' he gropes for it, curious-like, an' took it downstairs with him for a look at it, where it wasn't so dark. It was a strip of paper that th' bank puts around packages of bills, an' there was some figgers on it. He chucks it in a corner, where it fell down behind some stuff that had been there a long time, an' don't think no more about it till he hears about th' bank bein' robbed. Then he fishes it out an' brings it to me. I knowed what it was, first glance.'

'Any more?' urged McCullough. 'It's good; but, you got any more?'

'I shore have. What you think I'm sheriff for? I got two of th' bills, an' their numbers tally with th' bank's numbers of th' missin' money. You can compare 'em with yore own list later. I sent a deputy to their rooms as soon as I had 'em in jail, an' he found th' bills sewed up in their saddle pads. Reckon they was keepin' one apiece in case they needed money quick. An' when th' sand was swept off th' step in front of that hall door, a gold piece was picked up out of it.'

'When were you told about all this by these fellers?' demanded the trail-boss.

'As soon as th' robbery was known, an' as soon as th' shootin' of Ridley was known!'

'When did you arrest them?'

'Last night; an' it was shore one big job. They can fight like a passel of cougars. Don't take no chances with 'em, Mac.'

'Why did you wait till last night?' demanded McCullough. 'Wasn't you scared they'd get away?'

'No. I had 'em trailed every place they went. They wasn't either of 'em out of our sight for a minute; an' when they slept there was men watchin' th' stairs an' their winders. You see, Kane lost a lot of money in that robbery, bein' a director; an' I was hopin' they'd try to sneak off to where they cached it an' give us a chance to locate it. They was too wise. I got more witnesses, too; but they're Mexicans, an' I ain't puttin' no stock in 'em. A Mexican'd lie his own mother into her grave for ten dollars; anyhow, most juries down here think so, so it's all th' same.'

'Yes; lyin' for pay is shore a Mexican trick,' said McCullough, nodding. 'Well, I reckon it's only a case of waitin' for th' reward, Sheriff. Tell you what I wish you'd do: Gimme everythin' they own when you send 'em down to me, or when I come up for 'em, whichever suits you best. Everythin' has got to be collected now before it gets lost, an' it's got to be ready for court in case it's needed.'

'All right; I'll get back what I can use, after th' trial,' replied Corwin. 'I'll throw their saddles on their cayuses, an' let 'em ride 'em down. How soon do you want 'em? Right away?'

'First thing in th' mornin'!' snapped McCullough. 'Th' sooner th' better. I'll send up some of th' boys to give you a hand with 'em, or I'll take 'em off yore hands entirely at th' jail. Which suits you?'

'Send up a couple of yore men, if you want to. It'll look better in town if I deliver 'em to you here. Why, you ain't smoked yore cigar!'

McCullough looked at him and then at his own hand, staring at the crushed mass of tobacco in it. 'Shucks!' he grunted, apologetically, and forthwith lied a little himself. 'Funny how a man forgets when he's excited. I bet that cigar thought it was in a vise—my hand's tired from squeezin'.'

'Sorry I ain't got another, Mac,' said Corwin, grinning, as he paused in the door. 'I'll be lookin' for yore boys early. Adios.'

'Adios,' replied McCullough from the door, listening to the dying hoofbeats going rapidly toward town. Then he shut the door, hurled the remains of the cigar on the floor and stepped on them. 'He's got 'em, huh? An' strangers, too! He's got 'em too blamed pat for me. It takes a good man to plaster a lie on me an' make it stick—an' he ain't no good, at all. He was sweatin' before he got through!'Again the trousers came off, all the way this time, and the lamp was turned down. As he settled into his bunk he growled again. 'Well, I'll have a look at 'em, anyhow, an' send 'em down for Twitchell to look at,' and in another moment he was asleep.

CHAPTER XII

FRIENDS ON THE OUTSIDE

WHILE events were working out smoothly for the arrest of the two men in Kane's gambling-hall, four friends