"
"Can you?"
"At a word from me the sheriff'll be huntin' somewheres else. See?"
"I see."
"Don't think you'll squeeze through without me. I reckon you've a
springboard and a buckskin in the barn over there?"
"Maybe."
"The officers are looking for that buckskin in every little burg
between Santa Cruz and San Diego. You can't pack your grub and
blankets a-foot. I can supply everything. Nobody'll suspect me."
"Why not?"
"Because--because o' my record."
"Oh. It's a clean one, is it?"
"It is that."
"Sadie cottoned to you right away. Because she sized you up as
straight, I surmise."
The speaker smoked silently for a moment; Jeff held his tongue, but
his cheeks were red and hot.
"Sadie may sour on me now," said the father heavily.
"Sour on you, Mr. Sillett! Not she."
Sillett frowned. Then he opened a knife and slashed the cord which
bound Jeff. The fingers which held his pipe were trembling.
"You'll let me fix things?" said Jeff, in a low voice.
"And then--suppose--suppose Sadie soured on you?"
"I'll risk that," Jeff answered slowly. "She's more'n likely to.
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