The
worn, worried face of the sheriff had been like water on a dry field; he
felt that the seed of his plan would immediately spring up and bear
fruit.
"And that thing we got in common?" said the sheriff tersely.
"It's this--young Terry Hollis."
He let that shot go home without a follow-up and was pleased to see the
sheriff's forehead wrinkle with pain.
"He's like a ghost hauntin' me," declared McGuire, with an attempted
laugh that failed flatly. "Every time I turn around, somebody throws this
Hollis in my face. What is it now?"
"Do you mind if I run over the situation briefly, as I understand it?"
"Fire away!"
The sheriff settled back; he had forgotten his rush of business.
"As I understand it, you, Mr. McGuire, have the reputation of keeping
your county clean of crime and scenes of violence."
"Huh!" grunted the sheriff.
"Everyone says," went on Waters, "that no one except a man named Minter
has done such work in meeting the criminal element on their own ground.
You have kept your county peaceful. I believe that is true?"
"Huh," repeated McGuire. "Kind of soft-soapy, but it ain't all wrong.
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