"What in time were they after?" frowned Collins. "If it wasn't
his money--and it sure wasn't--what was it? I ce'tainly would
like to know what the Wolf wanted so blamed bad. Guess I'll not
follow Mr. Leroy just now till my leg is in better shape. Maybe I
had better investigate a little bit round town first."
The body was taken back to the Gold Nugget and placed on a table,
pending the arrival of the undertaker. It chanced that Collins,
looking absently over the crowd, glimpsed a gray felt hat that
looked familiar by reason of a frayed silver band found it.
Underneath the hat was a Mexican, and him the sheriff ordered to
step forward.
"Where did you get that hat, Manuel?"
"My name is Jose--Jose Archuleta," corrected the olive-hued one.
"I ain't worrying about your name, son. What I want to know is
where you found that hat."
"In the alley off the plaza, senor."
"All right. Chuck it up here."
"Muy bien, senor." And the dusty hat was passed from hand to hand
till it reached the sheriff.
Collins ripped off the silver band and tore out the sweat-pad. It
was an off chance--one in a thousand--but worth trying none the
less.
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