“Say,” he said; “what the hell is your name?”
“Rusty Minton,” the driver said. “Why?”
Bender winced as a surge of pain rolled down his arm.
“Nothing,” he said; “only I thought it was about time you and I got acquainted.”
Chapter VI
The noon whistles blew and Rondora paused for lunch but the Grand Jury did not adjourn because they were looking at records and listening to a Ranger captain tell them plain facts about organized crime and boom towns.
Tom Bender sat there in a long room of dim coolness, his right arm bandaged from shoulder to elbow where a .38 bullet had plowed through a muscle, and explained how the keys he had found in Botchey Miller's pocket fit a safety deposit vault that had contained the records now before them.
Those records made the Grand Jury gasp. They revealed how Lovell, the former chief of police, who now lay in the morgue, had been taking money from Miller and also how lesser officials were involved. Bender told them he had looked for these lesser officials but couldn't find them and it was his guess they had blown for good...
The Grand Jury indicted Pack Patton and no-billed Tom Bender and Rusty Minton, a taxi-driver. It adopted a vote of thanks for the latter pair and everybody shook hands and dispersed.
They asked Bender to remain over so they could throw a banquet or something but Bender told them he was still sleepy and that now that everything was quiet he thought he'd run over to Amarillo and hit the hay.
They thought he was too modest and said so but Bender laughed and told them so long.
He went back to the hotel and asked the clerk to get him transportation for Amarillo on the one o'clock bus. At five minutes to one he came downstairs and scores of persons crowded around the pointed him out and said flattering things. Bender got hot under the collar and quietly told a couple of them to get the hell away from there.
It seemed that the bus would never come. He felt that his hands and feet were unaccountably large and that in a minute or two... and then the big gray bus poked its ugly nose around the corner and drove up.
The crowd moved and from its midst came the taxi driver. His face was flushed, his eyes were wide but his attitude was one of mingled happiness and confusion.
“Say, Cap'n,” he babbled; “guess what—the mayor's just appointed me chief of police!”
“That so?” Bender asked. “Well,” he went on seriously; “you been a machine-gun sergeant in France and you got guts. Just keep these crooks in line and stay honest. Don't shoot until you have to, but when you do, try to hit something.” He grinned. “That way, you may get to be mayor.”
Rusty Minton gulped.
“I can handle it all right,” he said, “but the mayor comes to me out of a clear sky. I didn't ask for this job.”
“Well, you want it or not?”
“Sure—I'm tickled to death. But how'd he come to me?”
Bender's eyes twinkled.
“Search me,” he said.
“All aboard,” shouted the driver.
“So, long,” Bender said.
Rusty Minton's mouth popped open as the truth broke over him like a rainbow. He would have gone after the bus but it was out of sight.
“Ugh!”, he said to himself. “Wottaguy!”