“They say too damned much!” snarled Silent.  “This is what’s new.  Whistlin’ Dan Barry—­no less—­has busted open the jail at Elkhead an’ set Lee Haines free.”

The sheriff could not speak.

“I fixed it, Gus.  I staged the whole little game.”

“You fixed it with Whistlin’ Dan?”

“Don’t ask me how I worked it.  The pint is that he did the job.  He got into the jail while the lynchers was guardin’ it, gettin’ ready for a rush.  They opened fire.  It was after dark last night.  Haines an’ Dan made a rush for it from the stable on their hosses.  They was lynchers everywhere.  Haines didn’t have no gun.  Dan wouldn’t trust him with one.  He did the shootin’ himself.  He dropped two of them with two shots.  His devil of a wolf-dog brung down another.”

“Shootin’ at night?”

“Shootin’ at night,” nodded Silent.  “An” now, Gus, they’s only one thing left to complete my little game—­an’ that’s to get Whistlin’ Dan Barry proclaimed an outlaw an’ put a price on his head, savvy?”

“Why d’you hate him so?” asked Morris curiously.

“Morris, why d’you hate smallpox?”

“Because a man’s got no chance fightin’ agin it.”

“Gus, that’s why I hate Whistlin’ Dan, but I ain’t here to argue.  I want you to get Dan proclaimed an outlaw.”

The sheriff scowled and bit his lip.

“I can’t do it, Jim.”

“Why the hell can’t you?”

“Don’t go jumpin’ down my throat.  It ain’t human to double cross nobody the way you’re double crossin’ that kid.  He’s clean.  He fights square.  He’s jest done you a good turn.  I can’t do it, Jim.”

There was an ominous silence.

“Gus,” said the outlaw, “how many thousand have I given you?”

The sheriff winced.

“I dunno,” he said, “a good many, Jim.”

“An’ now you’re goin’ to lay down on me?”

Another pause.

“People are gettin’ pretty excited nowadays,” went on Silent carelessly.  “Maybe they’d get a lot more excited if they was to know jest how much I’ve paid you, Gus.”

The sheriff struck his forehead with a pudgy hand.

“When a man’s sold his soul to the devil they ain’t no way of buyin’ it back.”

“When you’re all waked up,” said Silent soothingly, “they ain’t no more reasonable man than you, Gus.  But sometimes you get to seein’ things cross-eyed.  Here’s my game.  What do you think they’d do in Elkhead if a letter came for Dan Barry along about now?”

“The boys must be pretty hot,” said the sheriff.  “I suppose the letter’d be opened.”

“It would,” said the outlaw.  “You’re sure a clever feller, Gus.  You c’n see a white hoss in the sunlight.  Now what d’you suppose they’d think if they opened a letter addressed to Dan Barry and read something like this: 

“’Dear Dan:  You made great play for L.H.  None of us is going to forget it.  Maybe the thing for you to do is to lay low for a while.  Then join us any time you want to.  We all think nobody could of worked that stunt any smoother than you done.  The rest of the boys say that two thousand ain’t enough for the work you’ve done.  They vote that you get an extra thousand for it.  I’m agreeable about that, and when you get short of cash just drop up and see us—­you know where.