The paymaster had been at Frayne but five
days earlier. The prison room was full of aching heads, and Hay's
coffers' of hard-earned, ill-spent dollars. Webb sighed at sight of the
crowded ranks of this whimsically named "Company Q," but in no wise
relaxed his vigilance, for the slats of the blind of the corner window
had partially opened. He had had a glimpse of feminine fingers, and
purposely he called Hay well out into the road, then bent down over him:
"All your horses in and all right, this morning, Hay?"
"None have been out," said Hay, stoutly, "unless they've gone within the
hour. I never let them have the keys, you know, over night. Pete brought
them to me at eight last evening and got 'em at six this morning, the
usual time."
"Where does he get them--without waking you?" asked Webb.
"They hang behind the door in my sleeping room. Pete gets them when he
takes my boots to black at six o'clock."
"Come over to the stables," said the commanding officer, and, wondering,
Hay followed.
They found the two hostlers busily at work grooming. In his box stall,
bright as a button, was "Harney," Hay's famous runner, his coat smooth
as satin. Hay went rapidly from stall to stall.
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