The sheriff
denied knowledge with a shake of his head.
"What's your name?" The sheriff looked sharply at him for the
effect of his answer.
"Jim Falin." And Hale looked sharply back at him. He was one of
the Falins who long, long ago had gone to the Gap for young Dave
Tolliver, and now the Falin grinned at Hale.
"I know you--all right." No wonder the Falin chuckled at this
Heaven-born chance to get a Tolliver into trouble.
At the Lonesome Pine the traces of the fugitive's horse swerved
along the mountain top--the shoe of the right forefoot being
broken in half. That swerve was a blind and the sheriff knew it,
but he knew where Rufe Tolliver would go and that there would be
plenty of time to get him. Moreover, he had a purpose of his own
and a secret fear that it might be thwarted, so, without a word,
he followed the trail till darkness hid it and they had to wait
until the moon rose. Then as they started again, the sheriff said:
"Wait a minute," and plunged down the mountain side on foot. A few
minutes later he hallooed for Hale, and down there showed him the
tracks doubling backward along a foot-path.
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