The Sheriff's Son
your tracks and you did n't leave the road in that half-mile. That brings you as far as Battle Butte. You had the gunnysack when you crossed the bridge. You did n't have it when Slim Sanders met you. So you must have got rid of it in that distance of less than a quarter of a mile. First off, I figured you dropped the sack in Hague's alfalfa field. But we 've tramped that all over. It's not there. Did you meet some one and give it to him? Or how did you get rid of it?"
"I ate it," grinned Dingwell confidentially.
"The boys are getting impatient, Dave. They don't like the way you butted in."
"That's all right. You 're responsible for my safety, Hal. I 'll let you do the worrying."
"Don't fool yourself. We can't keep you here forever. We can't let you go without an agreement. Figure out for yourself what's likely to happen?"
"Either my friends will rescue me, or else I 'll escape."
"Forget it. Not a chance of either." Rutherford stopped, struck by an idea. "Ever hear of a young fellow called Cherokee Street?"
"No. Think not. Is he a breed?"
"White man." Rutherford took a chair close
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