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"Take a run in the bush," he said proudly, "an' to-morrow I'll take yuh over it agin t' the foot. Kin I foller a trail! Gor-swizzle! It's wot I done most o' my born days." The contractor ruminated.
"I don' know wot they'll say, an' I don' care, but I know wot they'll do. They'll take hold o' my hands an' an' Gor-swizzle! I shud oughta know the Sergeant. . . . No more I ain't skeered o' th' Inspector." "But we're still stealing horses, Pete." "Yuh still want me to pay Torrance, the ole sinner, fer horses he knew was stole when he bought 'em?" He frowned.
"Shut that door, durn yuh! I can't keep 'em down all night." Mahon was obeying mechanically when the Indian dashed through. "Gor-swizzle, if he ain't the spunkiest chap I ever set eyes on. Jes' swaggered up that path like he was out fer a walk. . . . But plumb loco'ed! An' whistlin'! Oh, gor!" The Sergeant leaned heavily against the table, staring into the darkness toward the familiar voice.
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