Gee whiz, Wick, leave this thing to
me! I'll git at the bottom of it inside o' no time."
"Wait a few days, Mr. Crow," argued Bonner, playing for time. "Don't
hurry. We've got all we can do now to take care of the fellows you and
that young actor captured last night." The young man's plan was to keep
Anderson off the trail entirely and give the seemingly impossible clew
into the possession of the New York bureau.
"I don't know what I'd 'a' done ef it hadn't been fer that young
feller," said the marshal. "He was right smart help to me last night."
Bonner, who knew the true story, suppressed a smile and loved the old
man none the less for his mild deception.
They entered the "calaboose," which now had all the looks and odours of
a hospital. A half-dozen doctors had made the four injured men as
comfortable as possible. They were stretched on mattresses in the jail
dining-room, guarded by a curious horde of citizens.
"That's Gregory!" whispered Anderson, as they neared the suffering
group. He pointed to the most distant cot. "That's jest the way he swore
last night. Lie must 'a' shaved in the automobile last night," though
Gregory had merely discarded the false whiskers he had worn for days.
"Wait!" exclaimed Bonner, stopping short beside the first cot. He
stooped and peered intently into the face of the wounded bandit.
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