and from time to time they sauntered by the county courthouse, singly or in pairs.
But nobody saw what was taking place within the Powder Bank. Archer Steele, the cashier, came through the back lots, unlocked the rear door and vanished in the dark vault. Twenty minutes later he slipped out with a bundle under his arm and made a long detour to gain the street at its western end. When he appeared in the restaurant, the bundle had disappeared.
A half-hour later, Steele finished his meal and rode swiftly toward East Flats Junction with a small satchel slung over the pommel. At the junction he unsaddled the horse and turned it loose on the desert Westward, the long beams of the Limited's headlight shot across the flat land and glistened on the rails. Steele collected a handful of old newspapers from the station shed, spread them between the tracks and made a bonfire to flag the train. The engine roared by and came to a clanking stop. Steele swung up into the vestibule of a sleeper, turned to give a brief farewell glance at the country he had spent the best part of his youth in, and followed the porter inside, the back satchel securely held under his arm.
The action of the cashier had been shrouded in secrecy, but the results burst like a bomb on the sleepy town of Powder next morning, and within four short hours reached the farthest homestead in the valley.
Lin Ballou had finished his breakfast and was chinning himself for exercise on the inner coping of the door when he noticed a man running down the street, shouting at the top of his voice. Lin dropped quickly to the floor and craned his neck to follow this individual on his course. But the corridor intervened between the room and the outer wall of the courthouse, and the window which opened through this wall to allow a view of the street was somewhat higher than the usual window. Therefore, Lin soon lost the man and had to compose himself for further developments.
These were not long in coming.
In three or four minutes the man came back at the same headlong pace, followed by several others, foremost of whom was Lestrade and Dick Sharp of the restaurant. Presently W. W. Offut came into view, walking quite slowly and with his usual dignified air. By now the whole town was turning out. Lin heard the jailers chair slam against a wall on the lower floor, and shortly, from his limited point of view, he saw that worthy loping after the rest of the crowd.
The center of excitement seemed to be near the bank or Dan Rounds' office. Lin built himself a cigarette, and for want of something better to do, he began to reflect on the excitability of the human family. Here's everybody rushing along as if they were going to a murder, he thought, and I'm burning up because I can't join 'em. If ever there was a time to get out of this bastile, now is it.
He crossed over to the rear window and put his weight against the bars. But he had done this before and decided that it required more strength than he possessed to move them. The courthouse was fairly new and of good design. The former jail had been a thing scandalously easy to depart from, and the authorities, profiting by experience, had contrived to imbed the bars of the new jail room in a cement casement.
The door of the room was itself not a formidable barrier, being like any other door except for the upper half, which had an iron grating; but though the prisoner might possibly pick the lock and get through it, he faced the same kind of cemented and barred windows along the corridor. His only other chance lay in going to the end of the corridor, opening the door and slipping downstairs to the courtroom. Unfortunately, the jailer slept on a cot at the foot of this stairway and during the day sat in a chair from which he commanded a good view in all directions.
Prospects not so good, Lin mused. It's really kind of scandalous to keep a man locked up so tight. Supposing a fire broke out? I'd be in a fine state. However, if a man once got through both of these doors and downstairs without the jailer stopping him, he could make a run for the rear of the courtroom and into the judge's chamber. It's just a step, then, to the back alley and the open air. Humm. Worse jails have been busted...I think Sourface is coming back.
The jailer, in common with the general run of men, had news and desired to spread it. He bowled down the corridor and put a perspiring face up to the grating.
"By God, there's sure trouble afoot now. Know what's been done? There's something like fifty-nine thousand dollars stole from the bank and Archer Steele plumb gone from these parts. His horse come a-roaming home a spell back, minus gear. Old Elathan Boggs opened the bank and found everything missing."
"All gone?" Lin asked incredulously.
"No, not everything," the jailer qualified. "Old Boggs, he never trusts nobody with bank money. Keeps the vault combination to himself. But Steele had the water project funds in another part. Every red cent of that is gone!"
Lin shut his mouth tightly, and there passed across his mind the picture of Hank Colqueen, broiled red by the hot sun, tugging at his stubborn fence wire, fighting tooth and toenail to scratch a living from a barren land. Hank had five hundred dollars in that water fund. It was a vivid picture and equally true of better than a hundred other families likewise hard hit by the misfortune. That money was not surplus savings; it was their very substance and represented almost the full mortgage value of the land. Something stuck in Lin Ballou's throat and his whole body grew hot with rage.
"If it's Steele that got the money I hope they hang him!"
"Oh, we'll get him," the jailer said hopefully. "Nobody can buck the law, young fellow. Some dudes get smart and think they can, but it ain't possible." He returned downstairs, locking the corridor door behind him.
It's happened too blamed soon to seem like a matter of Providence, Lin thought. First a supply house burns down, then a ditch digger lies idle. Now it's embezzling. If Steele's crooked, it sure looks bad for all these poor folks with their capital tied up in the affair. It's plumb impossible for them to raise that sum again. Not more than a thousand dollars cash left in the whole valley, I'll bet. They've got to head off that fifty-nine thousand.
But there was no such encouraging news as the morning wore on. Instead, the town began to fill up with settlers, men of all ages and all types, but terribly alike in their soberness. Most of them carried guns, and their first move after tying their horses and teams was to march down the street, past the courthouse, to the bank and Lestrade's office. Lin watched them come and keep coming until the street was choked with vehicles, beasts and men. Sounds of speechmaking rose from time to time, the words too faint for Lin to hear, but seeming to issue from the same man each time. Lin made a guess that it was Lestrade.
A hot day's work cut out for him, and no mistake, he thought sourly.
But during the afternoon there arrived in town a pair of riders who made Lin Ballou lose all interest in the irrigation affair. They were much alike, both swarthy and roving-eyed. They, too, carried guns and sat in their saddles as if expecting trouble. As they rode by the courthouse they lifted their glances along the second story and at that moment Ballou saw them. Their very audacity took the breath from him until he recollected that the sole witness of their outlawry was himself.
Beauty and Nig, proud as life, he thought. What brought them in? When the buzzards begin to collect it's sure high time to watch out. Lin, old boy, something tells me your skin is entirely unsafe.
Again his reflections were interrupted by the opening of the corridor door. The jailer's voice rose in querulous protest "I can't be allowing every doggoned soul in Powder to see Ballou. I don't know as I ought to let you in."
Lin heard Dan Rounds issue a flat challenge. "Trying to keep men incommunicado?"
That was a poser. The jailer didn't know what incommunicado meant and he sullenly stated the fact. "But I know my duty," he said.
"Well, you don't know law," Rounds said brusquely. "I have the right to see any prisoner in this jail and if you deny me that right I'll make a report and you'll lose your job." His slim, somewhat cynical face appeared before the grating, much to Ballou's pleasure. "By golly, here's one honest man to visit my premises," Ballou exclaimed. "Dan, if you've come to offer legal advice—"
"Legal advice!" the lawyer snorted. "What good is that in a county that doesn't know Blackstone from Doctor Whu's bitter-root almanac?" He swung on the jailer who stood with his chin