"Shall be with you after dark," he
wired Cutler, who was having a bad quarter of an hour on his own
account, and wishing all Sandy to the devil. It had transpired that
Strom's rival ranchman, a little farther down the valley, was short
just one horse and set of horse equipments. He had made no complaint.
He had accused nobody. He had never failed in the past to appear at
Sandy with charge of theft and demand for damages at the expense of
the soldiery whenever he missed an item, big or little--and sometimes
when he didn't miss a thing. But now he came not at all, and Cutler
jumped at the explanation: he had sold that steed, and Downs, the
deserter, was the purchaser. Downs must have had money to aid in his
escape. Downs must have received it from someone eager to get him out
of the way. It might well be Elise, for who else would trust him? and
Downs must be striking for the south, after wide _detour_. No use now
to chase him. The wire was the only thing with which to round him up,
so the stage stations on the Gila route, and the scattered army posts,
were all notified of the desertion, and Downs's description, with all
his imperfections, was flashed far and wide over the Territory. He
could no more hope to escape than fly on the wings of night. He would
be cut off or run down long before he could reach Mexico; that is, he
_would_ be if only troopers got after him.
Pages:
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178