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 gear shift.
"You never can be sure about nothing in this business," came finally.
"But there 's this to think about: if that fellow was n't guilty of something, why did he run ?" "It might have been a kid in a stolen machine," came from the back seat.
"If it was, we 've got to wait until we get a report on it.

I guess it's us back to the office." The automobile went its way then, and Fairchild his, still wondering; the sheriff's question, with a different gender, recurring again and again: "If she was n't guilty of something, why did she run ?" And why had she?
More, why had she been willing to give ten dollars in payment for the mere changing of a tire?
And why had she not offered some explanation of it all?
It was a problem which almost wiped out for Robert Fairchild the zest of the new life into which he was going, the great gamble he was about to take.

And so thoroughly did it engross him that it was not until a truck had come to a full stop behind him, and a driver mingled a shout with the tooting of his horn, that he turned to allow its passage.
"Did n't hear you, old man," he apologized.