The Sheriff's Son
Battle Butte, for instance. Get a little more evidence and the wrong kind of a jury would send him up for it. No, we'll keep an eye on Mr. Cherokee Street, or whatever his name is. Reckon I'll ride over and have a talk with Jess about it."
"Why not tell this man Street that he is not wanted and so be done with it?"
"Because we would n't be done with it. Another man would come in his place. We'll keep him here where we can do a little detective work on him, too."
"I don't like it. The thing is underhanded. I hate the fellow. It's not decent to sit at table with a man who is betraying our hospitality," she cried hotly.
"It won't be for long, honey. Just leave him to us. We'll hang up his pelt to dry before we're through with him."
"You don't mean—?"
"No, nothing like that. But he'll crawl out of the park like a whipped cur with its tail between its legs."
The cook stood in the doorway. "Miss Beulah, do you want that meat done in a pot roast?" he asked.
"Yes. I'll show you." She turned at the
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