"Sheriff nuthin," snorted Pete disgustedly. "Them guys ain't good fur
nuthin but to wear tin stars and put up a bluff. It was a bunch of
tender-feet that nabbed 'em."
"Have a heart," said "Buck" Evans incredulously. "Don't fill us up with
anything like that."
"Them newspaper fellers is awful liars," sagely commented "Chip" Bennett.
"But it gives the names," persisted Pete. "They wouldn't go as far as
that if it wasn't so. Let's see," he went on as his stubbed finger moved
slowly over the lines. "Here they are--Wilson, Trent, Henderson--say," he
exclaimed with a quick look at the boys, "ain't them the handles you
fellers carries?"
All eyes were fixed in astonishment on the visitors, who blushed as
though they had been detected in a fault. Their embarrassment carried
conviction. The paper was thrown aside and the men gathered about them in
a chorus of eager questionings. They made them tell in every detail the
story of the fight, which the boys tried to minimize as much as possible.
"And yer never said a word about it," commented Pete when they had
extracted the last scrap of information.
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