The authorities could gather no outside information. The outlying claims and ranches refuted indignantly any hint of their having given aid or shelter to the fugitive, or of having any cognizance whatsoever regarding his possible whereabouts. So the pursuit, at first hot and excited, gradually wearied of following false leads,—contented itself with desultory journeys when prodded thereto by the compelling power of public opinion,—finally ceased altogether even as a pretence. One of the first things done following the dramatic day in court had been to send the officers out to the little shanty in the valley where the half-breed lay dead across the threshold. A watch was also set upon this place; but no one ever came there. August had come again, and Judge Dale was in Kemah to hear a court case. Langford had ridden in from the ranch on purpose to see Judge Dale. His clothes were spattered with mud. There had been a succession of storms, lasting for several days; last night a cloud had burst out west somewhere. All the creeks were swollen. “Judge, I believe Jesse Black has been on that island of his all the time.” “What makes you think so, Langford?” “Because our sheriff is four-flushing—he always was in sympathy with the gang, you know. Besides, where else can Black be?” Dale puckered his lips thoughtfully. “What have you heard?” he asked. “Rumors are getting pretty thick that he has been seen in that neighborhood on several occasions. It is my honest belief he has never left it.” “What did you think of doing about it, Langford?” “I want you to give me a bench warrant, Judge. I am confident that I can get him. It is the shame of the county that he is still at large.” “You have to deal with one of the worst and most desperate outlaws in the United States. You must know it will be a very hazardous undertaking, granting your surmises to be correct, and fraught with grave peril for some one.” “I understand that fully.” “This duty is another’s, not yours.” “But that other is incompetent.” “My dear fellow,” said the Judge, rising and laying his hand on Langford’s big shoulder, “do you really want to undertake this?” “I certainly do.” “Then I will give you the warrant, gladly. You are the one man in the State to do it—unless I except the gallant little deputy marshal. You know the danger. I admire your grit, my boy. Get him if you can; but take care of yourself. Your life is worth so much more than his. Who will you take with you?” “Munson, of course. He will go in spite of the devil, and he’s the best man I know for anything like this. Then I thought of taking the deputy sheriff. He’s been true blue all along, and has done the very best possible under the conditions.” “Very good. Take Johnson, too. He’ll be glad to go. He’s the pluckiest little fighter in the world,—not a cowardly hair in his head.”