It was several days later that Soapy Caswell came to Marlin City, driving a spirited pair of bronchos, hitched to a buckboard. He tied them at the Dollar Down hitch-rack and met Brick in front of Wesson’s store.
“Goin’ some place, or just got there?” queried Brick.
“If I wanted to go some place, I wouldn’t stop here,” grunted Soapy. “Don’t like yore town. What do yuh think of that?”
“That’s fine,” grinned Brick. “Mebbe we better call a meetin’ and let everybody grieve. What do yuh know, Soapy?”
“Danged little, Brick. Doin’ any good for yoreself?”
“Not much.”
“Uh-huh!” Soapy lowered his voice. “Did that detective ever show up?”
“Been here quite a while, Soapy. Name’s Santel.”
“Tha’sso? I reckon I might as well expect to get all that stolen money back pretty soon, eh?”
“Yuh might as
