The Cross-Cut | Page 9

than he had done it himself. He strove to
remove the blown-out shoe with the cap still screwed on the valve stem;
he fussed and swore under his breath, and panted, while behind him a
girl in whipcord riding habit and close-pulled cap fidgeted first on one
tan-clad foot, then on the other, anxiously watching the road behind her
and calling constantly for speed.
At last the job was finished, the girl fastening the useless shoe behind
the machine while Fairchild tightened the last of the lugs. Then as he
straightened, a small figure shot to his side, took the wrench from his
hand and sent it, with the other tools, clattering into the tonneau. A tiny
hand went into a pocket, something that crinkled was shoved into the
man's grasp, and while he stood there gasping, she leaped to the driver's
seat, slammed the door, spun the starter until it whined, and with open
cutout roaring again, was off and away, rocking down the mountain
side, around a curve and out of sight--while Fairchild merely stood

there, staring wonderingly at a ten-dollar bill!
A noise from the rear, growing louder, and the amazed man turned to
see a second machine, filled with men, careening toward him. Fifty feet
away the brakes creaked, and the big automobile came to a skidding,
dust-throwing stop. A sun-browned man in a Stetson hat, metal badge
gleaming from beneath his coat, leaned forth.
"Which way did he go?"
"He?" Robert Fairchild stared.
"Yeh. Did n't a man just pass here in an automobile? Where'd he
go--straight on the main road or off on the circuit trail?"
"It--it was n't a man."
"Not a man?" The four occupants of the machine stared at him. "Don't
try to bull us that it was a woman."
"Oh, no--no--of course not." Fairchild had found his senses. "But it was
n't a man. It--it was a boy, just about fifteen years old."
"Sure?"
"Oh, yes--" Fairchild was swimming in deep water now. "I got a good
look at him. He--he took that road off to the left."
It was the opposite one to which the hurrying fugitive in whipcord had
taken. There was doubt in the interrogator's eyes.
"Sure of that?" he queried. "I 'm the sheriff of Arapahoe County. That's
an auto bandit ahead of us. We--"
"Well, I would n't swear to it. There was another machine ahead, and I
lost 'em both for a second down there by the turn. I did n't see the other
again, but I did get a glimpse of one off on that side road. It looked like
the car that passed me. That's all I know."

"Probably him, all right." The voice came from the tonneau. "Maybe he
figured to give us the slip and get back to Denver. You did n't notice
the license number?" This to Fairchild. That bewildered person shook
his head.
"No. Did n't you?"
"Could n't--covered with dust when we first took the trail and never got
close enough afterward. But it was the same car--that's almost a cinch."
"Let's go!" The sheriff was pressing a foot on the accelerator. Down the
hill went the car, to skid, then to make a short turn on to the road which
led away from the scent, leaving behind a man standing in the middle
of the road, staring at a ten-dollar bill,--and wondering why he had lied!
CHAPTER IV
Wonderment which got nowhere. The sheriff's car returned before
Fairchild reached the bottom of the grade, and again stopped to survey
the scene of defeat, while Fairchild once more told his story, deleting
items which, to him, appeared unnecessary for consumption by officers
of the law. Carefully the sheriff surveyed the winding road before him
and scratched his head.
"Don't guess it would have made much difference which way he went,"
came ruefully at last, "I never saw a fellow turn loose with so much
speed on a mountain road. We never could have caught him!"
"Dangerous character?" Fairchild hardly knew why he asked the
question. The sheriff smiled grimly.
"If it was the fellow we were after, he was plenty dangerous. We were
trailing him on word from Denver--described the car and said he 'd
pulled a daylight hold-up on a pay-wagon for the Smelter Company--so
when the car went through Golden, we took up the trail a couple of
blocks behind. He kept the same speed for a little while until one of my
deputies got a little anxious and took a shot at a tire. Man, how he
turned on the juice! I thought that thing was a jack rabbit the way it

went up the hill! We never had a chance after that!"
"And you 're sure it was the same person?"
The sheriff toyed with the