“Oh, damn your horse and its virtues,” the sheriff interrupted. “We’ll take you along, anyway. How do I know you wasn’t planted out here to help him make a get-away?” “You don’t,” Carver admitted. “For all you know, why he might have sent me word about whatever misdeed he was planning, stating the exact spot where your posse would jump him and outlining his route of escape from there on, so’s I could be posted just where his horse would play out and he’d be needing a fresh one.” The officer frowned at this absurd line of deduction and Carver grinned at his discomfiture. The three additional members of the posse, having ridden well off toward the left, had now sighted the group on the ridge and were approaching the spot. “If you want me for exhibit A in the evidence I don’t mind going along,” Carver added. The three additional members of the posse rode up and two of them greeted Carver by name. “Whenever did you elect to turn outlaw?” one man asked. “Sho! We’ve snarled things up,” he added. “Carver wasn’t into this mess.” “Do you know this party?” the sheriff inquired. “Do I?” the man laughed. “If I had a dollar for every one I’ve borrowed off him I’d pay half of ’em back.” Carver’s name was known to the sheriff. It was certain that he could be found if his testimony was needed later. “No use holding you,” he said to Carver. “He’s made a clean get-away. I’m a little off my range--no authority here in the Strip; but I wasn’t going to let the line stop me when we was right on his heels.” “Why were you wanting him?” Carver asked. He raised his eyebrows in evident surprise as the officer gave the details of the Wharton hold-up and announced that the man they had hunted was the wounded one of the quartet. “They holed up somewheres till dark but we got word they’d headed down this way in the night,” the officer explained. “Likely this fellow was feeling sick and had to hide out. He’d spotted us riding into the sand hills and was just climbing his horse to make a run for it when we sighted him over a mile ahead. He’d posted himself on a ridge so’s he could watch all ways. He’s up on your fresh horse and miles off by now. No use for us to go on. I’ll send word to Oval Springs to the sheriff there that he’s down in this country.” “Any idea who he might be?” Carver inquired. “Anyone along the line get a look at him?” “Not one,” the sheriff denied. “He’s in the clear as far as identity is concerned. Nobody’s set eyes on him from the time they rode out of Wharton till we jumped him this morning--excepting the man who reported that he’d seen four men ride this way after night. That crippled shoulder may give him away. We’ll be riding on back. I’ll want that horse you’re on so we can trace its ownership. May get it on him that way.” “I’ll nurse him along over to Engle’s place on Slate Creek,” Carver offered. “Engle will lend me a horse to ride home.”