Along the hill above us, sure enough, we could see a long gash running a great part of the hill near the summit, in the black frontage of it. "Well," said the sheriff, "I should n’t like to be under a mud-slide. But you ’d think that them two ribs here would hold the face o’ this hill together, would n’t you?" He looked up at the sky; sunset seemed a thought quicker than usual, and there were great, heavy clouds crawling up again, as last night, from behind the mountains. Apache Kid had said not a word so far, but now he spoke. "I ’ve seen a few mud-slides in my time, Sheriff," he said: "but this one would be a colossal affair. Might I ask you a question before I offer advice?" "Sure," said the sheriff, wonderingly. "Is it only the charge of murdering Mr. Pinkerton that you want me for, or would you try to make a further name for your smartness by using that clew you got about the two-some gang—not to put too fine a point upon it?" You would have thought the sheriff had a real liking for Apache Kid the way he looked at him then. He took the cutting from his sleeve, and tore it up and trampled it into the wet earth. "I guess the hangin’ will do you, without anything else," said he; from which, of course, one could not exactly gauge his inmost thoughts. But sheriffs study that art. They learn to be ever genial, without ever permitting the familiarity that breeds contempt—genial and stern. "In that case," said Apache Kid, "I would suggest leaving this cabin right away. I want to clear myself of that charge; and if that crack widened during the night, I might never be able to do that." *CHAPTER XXII* _*The Mud-Slide*_ From our scrutiny of the mountain above us the sheriff turned aside. "If we have to leave here, I reckon I just have a look at that hole o’ theirs and see what like it is to my mind," said he, "with all due respect to your judgment, sir," (this to Apache Kid) "and out of a kind o’ curiosity." He bade the Indian go with him to tend the windlass and Apache Kid and I returned to the cabin, Slim following ostentatiously at our heels, and remaining at the door watching the sheriff. I plucked my friend by the sleeve. This was the first opportunity we had had for private speech since the sheriff’s arrival. "Apache," I said, "what is the meaning of this arrest? Is it the half-breed that came with Mr. Pinkerton who has garbled the tale of his death for some reason?" He shook his head. "No," said he, "not the half-breed. I ’ll wager it is some of Farrell’s gang that are at the bottom of it." "But they," I began, "they were all——" and I stopped on the word. "Wiped out?" he said. "True; but you forget Pete, the timid villain." "But he," I said, "he was away long before that affair of poor Mr. Pinkerton."