Part 56

He was more at ease in the practical arrangements. An express went through on the main line at midnight, and there was a local on the branch line at eight. But the local train, the railway station, too, were full of possible dangers. After some thought he decided to get a car, drive down to the main line with Dick, and then send the car back.

He went out at once and made an arrangement for a car, and on returning notified the clerk that he was going to leave, and asked to have his bill made out. After some hesitation he said: “I'll pay three-twenty too, while I'm at it. Friend of mine there, going with me. Yes, up to to-night.”

As he turned away he saw the short, heavy figure of Wilkins coming in. He stood back and watched. The sheriff went to the desk, pulled the register toward him and ran over several pages of it. Then he shoved it away, turned and saw him.

“Been away, haven't you?” he asked.

“Yes. I took a little horseback trip into the mountains. My knees are still not on speaking terms.”

The sheriff chuckled. Then he sobered.

“Come and sit down,” he said. “I'm going to watch who goes in and out of here for a while.”

Bassett followed him unwillingly to two chairs that faced the desk and the lobby. He had the key of Dick's room in his pocket, but he knew that if he wakened he could easily telephone and have his door unlocked. But that was not his only anxiety. He had a sudden conviction that the sheriff's watch was connected with Dick himself. Wilkins, from a friendly and gregarious fellow-being, had suddenly grown to sinister proportions in his mind.

And, as the minutes went by, with the sheriff sitting forward and watching the lobby and staircase with intent, unblinking eyes, Bassett's anxiety turned to fear. He found his heart leaping when the room bells rang, and the clerk, with a glance at the annunciator, sent boys hurrying off. His hands shook, and he felt them cold and moist. And all the time Wilkins was holding him with a flow of unimportant chatter.

“Watching for any one in particular?” he managed, after five minutes or so.

“Yes. I'll tell you about it as soon as--Bill! Is Alex outside?”

Bill stopped in front of them, and nodded.

“All right. Now get this--I want everything decent and in order. No excitement. I'll come out behind him, and you and Bill stand by. Outside I'll speak to him, and when we walk off, just fall in behind. But keep close.”

Bill wandered off, to take up a stand of extreme nonchalance inside the entrance. When Wilkins turned to him again Bassett had had a moment to adjust himself, and more or less to plan his own campaign.

“Somebody's out of luck,” he commented. “And speaking of being out of luck, I've got a sick man on my hands. Friend of mine from home. We've got to catch the midnight, too.”

“Too bad,” Wilkins commented rather absently. Then, perhaps feeling that he had not shown proper interest, “Tell you what I'll do. I've got some business on hand now, but it'll be cleared up one way or another pretty soon. I'll bring my car around and take him to the station. These hacks are the limit to ride in.”

The disaster to his plans thus threatened steadied the reporter, and he managed to keep his face impassive.

“Thanks,” he said. “I'll let you know if he's able to travel. Is this--is this business you're on confidential?”

“Well, it is and it isn't. I've talked some to you, and as you're leaving anyhow--it's the Jud Clark case again.”

“Sort of hysteria, I suppose. He'll be seen all over the country for the next six months.”

“Yes. But I never saw a hysterical Indian. Well, a little while ago an Indian woman named Lizzie Lazarus blew into my office. She's a smart woman. Her husband was a breed, dairy hand on the Clark ranch for years. Lizzie was the first Indian woman in these parts to go to school, and besides being smart, she's got Indian sight. You know these Indians. When they aren't blind with trachoma they can see further and better than a telescope.”

Bassett made an effort.

“What's that got to do with Jud Clark?” he asked.

“Well, she blew in. You know there was a reward out for him, and I guess it still stands. I'll have to look it up, for if Maggie Donaldson wasn't crazy some one will turn him up some day, probably. Well, Lizzie blew in, and she said she'd seen Jud Clark. Saw him standing at a second story window of this hotel. Can you beat that?”

“Not for pure invention. Hardly.”

“That's what I said at first. But I don't know. In some ways it would be like him. He wouldn't mind coming back and giving us the laugh, if he thought he could get away with it. He didn't know fear. Only time he ever showed funk was when he beat it after the shooting, and then he was full of hootch, and on the edge of D.T.'s.”

“A man doesn't play jokes with the hangman's rope,” Bassett commented, dryly. He looked at his watch and rose. “It's a good story, but I wouldn't wear out any trouser-seats sitting here watching for him. If he's living he's taken pretty good care for ten years not to put his head in the noose; and I'd remember this, too. Wherever he is, if he is anywhere, he's probably so changed his appearance that Telescope Lizzie wouldn't know him. Or you either.”

“Probably,” the sheriff said, comfortably. “Still I'm not taking any chances. I'm up for reelection this fall, and that Donaldson woman's story nearly queered me. I've got a fellow at the railroad station, just for luck.”