“He stuck me up, boys, and he told Jig to beat it up the trail.  Then he backed off, keeping me covered all the time, until he was around the hill.  The minute he was out of sight I follered him, but when it come into view, him and Gaspar was high-tailing through the hills.  I didn’t have no rifle, and it was plumb foolish to chase two killers with nothing but a Colt.  Which I leave it to you gents!”

“Would have been crazy, sheriff,” asserted Red Chalmers.

“I dunno,” sighed Arizona, patting his fat stomach reminiscently.  “I dunno.  I guess you was right, Kern.”

The others glared at him, and the sheriff became purple.

“So I come back and figured that I’d best get together the handiest little bunch of fighting men I could lay hands on.  That’s why I sent for you four.”

Clumsily they made their acknowledgements.

“Because,” said Kern, “it don’t take no senator to see that something has got to be done.  Sour Creek is after Gaspar, and now it’ll be after Sinclair, too.  But they got clear of me, and I’m the sheriff of Woodville.  It’s up to Woodville to get ’em back.  Am I right?”

Again they nodded, and the sheriff, growing warmer as he talked, snatched off a glove and mopped his forehead.  As his arm fell, he noted that Arizona had seen something which fascinated him.  His eyes followed every gesture of the sheriff’s hand.

“Is that the whole story?” asked Arizona.

“The whole thing,” declared Kern stoutly, and he glared at the man from the southland.

“Because if it’s anything worse,” said Arizona innocently, “we’d ought to know it.  The honor of Woodville is at stake.”

“Oh, it’s bad enough this way,” grumbled Joe Stockton, and the sheriff, hastily restoring his glove, grunted assent.

“Now, boys, let’s hear some plans.”

“First thing,” said Red Chalmers, rising, “is for each of us to pick out the best hoss in his string, and then we’ll all ride over to the place where they left and pick up the trail.”

“Not a bad idea,” approved Kern.

There was a general rising.

“Sit down,” said Arizona, who alone had not budged in his chair.

Without obeying, they turned to him.

“Was that the Morris trail, Kern?” asked Arizona.

“Sure.”

“Well, you ain’t got a chance of picking up the trail of two hosses out of two hundred.”

In silence they received the truth of this assertion.  Then Joe Stockton spoke.  He was not exactly a troublemaker, but he took advantage of every disturbance that came his way and improved it to the last scruple.

“Sinclair comes from Colma, according to Bill, and Colma is north.  Ride north, Kern, and the north trail will keep us tolerable close to Sinclair.  We can tend to Gaspar later on—­unless he’s a pile more dangerous’n he looks.”

“Yes, Sinclair is the main one,” said the sheriff.  “He’s more’n a hundred Gaspars.  Boys, the north trail looks good to me.  We can pick up Gaspar later on, as Joe Stockton says.  Straight for Colma, that’s where we’ll strike.”