The Sheriff's Son
Dingwell played for time. He had not the least intention of telling, but if he held the enemy in parley some of his friends might pass that way.
"What gunnysack, Hal? Jee-rusalem, how my head aches!" He held his hands to his temples and groaned again.
"Your head will mend—if we don't have to give it another crack," Buck told him grimly. "Get busy, Dave. We want that gold—pronto. Where did you put it?"
"Where did I put it? That willing lad of yours has plumb knocked the answer out of my noodle. Maybe you 're thinking of some one else, Buck." Dingwell looked up at him with an innocent, bland smile.
"Come through," ordered Buck with an oath.
The cattleman treated them to another dismal groan. "Gee! I feel like the day after Christmas. Was it a cannon the kid hit me with?"
Meldrum pushed his ugly phiz to the front. "Don't monkey away any time, boys. String him to one of these cottonwoods till he spits out what we want."
"Was it while you was visiting up at Santa Fé you learnt that habit of seeing yore neigh-
140
