No one could say which way the fugitive had gone. Jim Pollock, under
pressure, admitted that his brother had stormed against the door, had
told the awakened inmates that his wife was dead and that he was going
away. Immediately on making this statement, he had clattered off. Jim
steadfastly maintained that his brother had given no inkling of whither
he fled. Simeon Wright's cattle, on their way to the high country, filed
past. The cowboys listened to the news with interest, and a delight
which they did not attempt to conceal. They denied having seen the
fugitive. The sheriff questioned them perfunctorily. He knew the breed.
George Pollock might have breakfasted with them for all that the denials
assured him.
There appeared shortly on the scene of action a United States marshal.
The murder of a government official was serious. Against the criminal
the power of the nation was deployed. Nevertheless, in the long run,
George Pollock got clean away. Nobody saw him from that day--or nobody
would acknowledge to have seen him.
For awhile Bob expected at any moment to be summoned for his testimony.
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