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Comfort F.B. Allen, Captain. West. Wallace. Shadduck. Oakes. Harper. Bird. Daly. Shay. Morris. R.E. R.T. R.G. Center. Clay. Coddling. Smith, Jr. Lacy. Alpers. Macy. Smith, Sr. L.E. L.T. L.G. Center. Snodgrass. Banghardt. Bardwell. Lee, Captain. The same referee officiated who had managed the game with Clifford so well.
Tell him to get hold of this fellow Barnham and pinch him, and then send him up to Ohadi in care of Pete Carr or some other good officer. We 've got a lot of things to say to him." The message went through. Then the two sheriffs rose and looked at their revolvers. "Now for the tough one." Bardwell made the remark, and Mason smiled grimly. Fairchild rose and went to them. "May I go along?"
One day it did crash: the head-lines of the morning papers shouted the catastrophe at me: "The Monster forced to disgorge Warrant out against Vard Bardwell the Boss's Boomerang" you know the kind of thing. When I had read the papers I threw them down and went out. As it happened, Vard was to have given me a sitting that morning; but there would have been a certain irony in waiting for him.
WILLIAM BARDWELL. Sandwich, Mass., March 4, 1839." Mr. WILLIAM POE, till recently a slaveholder in Virginia, now an elder in the Presbyterian Church at Delhi, Ohio, gives the following testimony: "An elder in the Presbyterian Church in Lynchburg had a most faithful servant, whom he flogged severely and sent him to prison, and had him confined as a felon a number of days, for being saucy.
I 'm sure it was around there." The old books were mulled over, one after the other. At last Bardwell leaned forward and pointed to a certain page. "Here's an item under May 28. It says: 'Roady has been at me again! He wants me to fix things so that the three men in the Blue Poppy mine will get caught in there by a cave-in." The sheriff looked up.
Instead of one Benedict Arnold selling his soul for temporary gain, we had fifty. It did the soul of me good to read the returns of the next Congressional election and to know that the truckling, craven disgusting majority was wiped out as a boy rubs a wet sponge across a slate. The Hon. Bardwell Slote is a large man at home and a giant to his wife.
The Silver Queen didn't amount to much and when demonetization set in, I quit you 'll remember, Sheriff and went away. I 'd worked for Squint before, and when I came back a couple of years ago, I naturally went to him for a job again. Then he put this proposition up to me at ten dollars a day and ten per cent. It looked too good to be turned down." "How about you?" Bardwell faced Blindeye.
Grudgingly he gave up his hold upon her, as they hurried for the sidewalks and for the sheriff's office. There Fairchild did not attempt to talk he left it all to Anita, and Bardwell, the sheriff, listened. Taylor Bill had confessed to the robbery at the Old Times dance and to his attempt to so arrange the evidence that the blame would fall on Harry.
They ran across the spur tracks in the faint light of a dirty incandescent, gleaming from above. A greasy being faced them and Bardwell, the sheriff, shouted his mission. "Got to catch some people that are making a get-away through Center City. Can you send us up in the skip?" "Yes, two at a time." "All right!" The sheriff turned to Harry.
Among the drivers to Keene, New Hampshire, were Kimball Danforth, 1817-40; Ira Brown, Oliver Scales, Amos Nicholas, Otis Bardwell, Abel Marshall, the brothers Ira and Hiram Hodgkins, George Brown, Houghton Lawrence, Palmer Thomas, Ira Green, Barney Pike, William Johnson, Walter Carleton, and John Carleton.
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