“The other two!” said the sheriff, more to himself than to Vic, who stood beside him.
“Easy, Pete,” he cautioned. “You got nothin' agin Haines and Daniels.”
The sheriff flashed at him that hungry, baffled glance.
“Maybe I can find something. You Gregg, keep your mouth shut and stand back. Halloo!”
He sent a long call quavering between the lonely mountains.
“You yonder—Lee Haines! D'you give up to the law?” A burst of savage laughter flung back at him, and then: “Why the hell should I?”
“Haines, I give you fair warnin'! For resistin' the law and interferin', I ask you, do you surrender?”
“Who are you?”
The big voice fairly swallowed the rather shrill tone of the sheriff.
“I'm sheriff Pete Glass.”
“You lie. Whoever heard of a sheriff come sneakin' round like a coyote lookin' for dead meat?”
Pete Glass grinned with rage.
“Haines, you ain't much better'n spoiled meat if you keep back. I gave you till I count ten”
“Why, you bob-tailed skunk,” shouted a new voice. “You bone-spavined, pink-eyed rat-catcher,” continued this very particular describer, “what have you got on us? Come out and dicker and we'll do the same!”
The sheriff sighed, softly, deeply.
