Hal took a minute or so to ponder the situation. “Mr. Cotton,” he said, at last. “I know how to spell better than that. Also my handwriting is a bit more fluent.” There was a trace of a smile about the marshal's cruel lips. “I know,” he replied. “I've not failed to compare them.”
“You have a good secret-service department!” said Hal.
“Before you get through, young fellow, you'll discover that our legal department is equally efficient.”
“Well,” said Hal, “they'll need to be; for I don't see how you can get round the fact that I'm a check-weighman, chosen according to the law, and with a group of the men behind me.”
“If that's what you're counting on,” retorted Cotton, “you may as well forget it. You've got no group any more.”
“Oh! You've got rid of them?”
“We've got rid of the ring-leaders.”
“Of whom?”
“That old billy-goat, Sikoria, for one.”
“You've shipped him?”
“We have.”
“I saw the beginning of that. Where have you sent him?”
“That,” smiled the marshal, “is a job for your secret-service department!”
“And who else?”
“John Edstrom has gone down to bury his wife. It's not the first time that dough-faced old preacher has made trouble for us, but it'll be the last. You'll find him in Pedro—probably in the poor-house.”
“No,” responded Hal, quickly—and there came just a touch of elation in his voice—“he won't have to go to the poor-house at once. You see, I've just sent twenty-five dollars to him.”
The camp-marshal frowned. “Really!” Then, after a pause, “You did have that money on you! I thought that lousy Greek had got away with it!”
“No. Your knave was honest. But so was I. I knew Edstrom had been getting short weight for years, so he was the one person with any right to the money.”
This story was untrue, of course; the money ............