to offer his hand to the blunt, grim host. "Got good news," he said, "for you, me, an' th' T & C."
"Ya-as?" drawled McCullough, peering out beneath his bushy, gray eyebrows. "Pecos Kane shoot hisself?"
"We got th' fellers that robbed th' bank an' shot Ridley," said the sheriff.
"The h—l you say!" exclaimed McCullough. "Come in an' set down. Who are they? How'd you get 'em?"
"That reward stick?" asked Corwin anxiously.
"Tighter'n a tick to a cow!" emphatically replied the trail-boss. "Who are they?"
"I got a piece of paper here," said the sheriff, proving his words. He stepped inside and placed it on the table. "Read it over an' sign it. Then I'll fill in th' blanks with th' names of th' men. If they're guilty, I'm protected; if I've made a mistake, then there's no harm done."
McCullough slowly read it aloud:
"‘Sheriff Corwin was the first man to tell me that and robbed the Mesquite bank, and that killed Tom Ridley. He will produce the prisoners, with the witnesses and other proof in Sandy Bend upon demand. If they are found guilty of the crime named the rewards belong to him.’"
The trail-boss considered it thoughtfully. "It looks fair; but there's one thing I don't like, Sheriff," he said, putting his finger on the objectionable words and looking up. "I don't like 'Sandy Bend.' I'm takin' no chances with them fellers. I'll just scratch that out, an' write in, 'to me' How 'bout it?"
