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For the rest, he had a mild forehead, which he was wiping as he crossed the creek, a pleasant mouth, and a chin a thought too delicately modelled for a man. He walked soberly, with the dragging stride of a tired pedestrian. He was tall, thin, and angular. Bud ran to meet him. "We've comp'ny," he cried, indicating Jeff. Sillett quickened his step. "Company?"
Behind them, Sillett stood quietly observant, but his right hand stole down to his pocket. "Hold up your hands!" he said sharply. Jeff and the girl sprang apart. Sillett had levelled a pistol at the deputy-sheriff, repeating his words with one addition: "Quick!" Jeff raised his hands. "He carries a 'gun," said Sillett to his daughter. "Take it from him." She obeyed.
I don't care what he has done to others, he's always been so good to me. And if you will help us, I I " "Sadie!" Sillett's voice was very harsh. "Yes, Dad." "Leave us. Not a word, child. Go!" She moved away, the tears trickling from her eyes. Nothing was said till the door had closed behind her; then Jeff broke the silence, in a voice with a strange rasp to it. "I will help you, Mr. Sillett."
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.
Sillett met Jeff's glance with a simple bow, and the inevitable remark, "Hurt yourself?" Jeff explained. While describing his misadventure he decided that Bud could not be a party to the father's crime. Sillett asked for permission to examine the wounded leg Presently he asked Jeff to stand up. "Oh, Dad!" protested Bud. Jeff obeyed, glad to discover that he could stand upon the injured foot.
He pulled a tattered handbill from his pocket, smoothed it out, and read it with darkening brows. The bill offered a handsome reward for any information which would lead to the arrest of one Sillett, a defaulting assistant-cashier of a Santa Barbara bank.
Her face was white as milk, but not with fear. The man who held the pistol had ceased for the moment to bear any resemblance to her father, but assuredly he was the defaulter whom Jeff Wells and the sheriff sought. The expression upon his face revealed that, if nothing else. Sadie removed the pistol and brought it to Sillett. "In the hut, on a nail behind the door, is a piece of cord. Fetch it!"
So engrossed were the pair that neither marked Sillett as he opened the door of the hut. He advanced a couple of steps, smoking a pipe, and then paused, astonished, as Jeff's next words reached him. "Look at here," he burst out. "That story It's my own story. I left San Lorenzo yesterday afternoon to arrest your father. The sheriff an' me knew he was somewhere in these foothills."
"Same thing happened to me once," Sillett remarked. "The tight boot caused more than half the trouble. Sit down, Mr. ?" "Wells. Jefferson Wells." "Thank you. My name is of no service to you. And this is my daughter Sarah. Run away, Sadie." Jeff, watching the daughter, thought her confusion the prettiest thing he had ever seen. "You are a cowboy, I presume?" said Sillett, as Bud disappeared.
Sillett and his daughter had disappeared in a springboard, drawn by a buckskin horse, and were supposed to have travelled south, in the hope of crossing the border into Mexico. At the head of the bill was a rough woodcut of Sillett. Jeff crumpled up the sheet of paper, and stuffed it into his pocket. "It's him sure 'nough," he growled. Then he gasped suddenly, "Jee- roosalem! Bud is a rosebud!"
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