ing, they fell upon the notice of the reward for the capture, dead or alive, of Daniel Barry, about five feet nine or ten, slender, with black hair and brown eyes.
“My God!” cried the deputy.
But then he relaxed against the counter.
“It ain't possible,” he murmured.
“What ain't possible?”
“However, I'm goin' to go and hang around. Gents, I got a crazy idea.”
He had no sooner started toward the door than he seemed to gain surety out of the motion.
“It's him!” he cried. He turned toward the others, white of face. “Come on, all of you! It's him! Barry!”
But in the meantime Harry had gone on swiftly to the office of the sheriff with “Joe Cumber.” Behind him swirled the curious crowd and for their benefit he asked his questions loudly.
“Partner, that was sure a pretty play you made. I've seen 'em all try out to crack them balls, but I never seen none do it the way you did—with your gun in the leather at the start. What part of the country might you be from?”
The other answered gently: “Why, from over yonder.”
“The T O outfit, eh?”
“Beyond that.”
“Up in the Gray Mountains? That so! I s'pose you been on trails like this before?”
