The men stepped down from the veranda, and stood near the horses.
"That hobo got away," said the sheriff. "Do you know anything about it?"
"I turned him loose," said Lorry, without hesitation.
"I changed my mind. I didn't want any blood-money for arrestin' a tramp."
"That's all right. But you can't change the law so easy. That man was my prisoner. Why didn't you come to me?"
"Well, if you want to know, in company," said Lorry, "High Chin and the boys had it framed up to give that hobo a goin'-over for stealin' a Starr horse. They figured to bust in the jail, same as I did. I got that straight; I didn't aim to let High Chin get his hands on my prisoner."
"Well, Lorry, I don't like to do it, but I got to hold you till we get him."
"You've aided a prisoner to escape. You broke the law."
"Your own story. You brought him in yourself."
"I sure did. But supposin' I say I ain't got nothin' against him, and the folks over there won't appear against him, how could you prove anything?"
"He's under suspicion. You said yourself he was holding up them tourists."
"But you can't make me swear that in court."
Buck Hardy glared at the younger man. "See here, Lorry, I don't understand your game. Suppose the man ain't guilty. He was locked up--and by me, representing this county. You can't prove that the Starr boys would have done anything to him. And you can't monkey with the law to suit yourself as long as I'm sheriff. Am I right?" And Hardy turned to Waring.
Lorry's gray eyes shone with a peculiar light. "What you goin' to do about it, Buck?"
"Two of my boys are out looking for the man. You're under arrest till he is brought in."
"No. But, understand, you're under arrest. You can't leave town."
"Say, now, Buck, ain't you kind of crowdin' me into the fence?"
"I'd arrest my own brother for a trick like that."
Lorry gazed at the ground for a minute. He glanced up. Alice Weston sat watching them. She could not hear what they were saying, but their attitudes confirmed her apprehension.
"I'd like to speak to ma a minute," said Lorry.
Waring, who had been watching his son closely, strolled to the veranda steps and sat down.
Hardy lighted a cigar. "I hate to do this, Waring," he told the other.
The sheriff leaned close. "I figured to bluff him into telling which way the hobo went. Mebby he'll talk later."