LOOSE THREADS
The Governor had been himself a cattleman. Before that he had known
Ellison and Wadley during the war. Therefore he lent a friendly ear to
the tale told him by his old-time friends.
Clint did most of the talking, one leg thrown across the arm of a
leather-bound chair in the library of the Governor's house. The three
men were smoking. A mint julep was in front of each.
The story of Jack Roberts lost nothing in the telling. Both of the
Panhandle men were now partisans of his, and when the owner of the A T O
missed a point the hawk-eyed little Captain was there to stress it.
"That's all right, boys," the Governor at last broke in. "I don't doubt
he's all you say he is, but I don't see that I can do anything for him.
If he's in trouble because he deliberately helped a murderer to
escape--"
"You don't need to do a thing, Bob," interrupted Wadley. "That's just
the point. He's in no trouble unless you make it for him. All you've got
to do is shut yore eyes. I spent three hours with a pick makin' a hole
in the jail wall so as it would look like the prisoner escaped. I did a
real thorough job. Yorky, the jailer, won't talk. We got that all
fixed. There'll be no trouble a-tall unless you want the case against
Jack pushed."
"What was the use of comin' to me at all, then? Why didn't you boys keep
this under your hats?" the Governor asked.
Wadley grinned. "Because of Jim's conscience. You see, Bob, he fills his
boys up with talk about how the Texas Rangers are the best police force
in the world. That morale stuff! Go through an' do yore duty. Play no
favorites an' have no friends when you're on the trail of a criminal.
Well, he cayn't ignore what young Roberts has done. So he passes the
buck to you."
The Governor nodded appreciation of Ellison's difficulty. "All right,
Jim. You've done your duty in reporting it. Now I'll forget all about
it. You boys go home and marry those young people soon as they're
ready."
The Panhandle cattleman gave a whoop. "That'll be soon as I can draw up
partnership papers for me 'n' Jack as a weddin' present for him an'
Mona."
* * * * *
They were married at Clarendon. All the important people of the
Panhandle attended the wedding, and it was generally agreed that no
better-looking couple ever faced the firing line of a marriage ceremony.
There was a difference of opinion as to whether the ex-line-rider
deserved his good luck. Jumbo Wilkins was one of those who argued
mightily that there was no luck about it.
"That doggoned Tex wore his bronc to a shadow waitin' on Miss 'Mona an'
rescuin' her from trouble. She plumb had to marry him to git rid of
him," he explained. "I never saw the beat of that boy's gall. Six months
ago he was ridin' the line with me. Now he's the _segundo_ of the whole
outfit an' has married the daughter of the boss to boot."
Jumbo was on hand with a sack of rice and an old shoe when the bride and
groom climbed into the buckboard to drive to the ranch. His admiration
found vent in one last shout as the horses broke into a run:
"Oh, you Tex! Let 'em go, son!"
THE END