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Updated: May 28, 2025
Dooley, "th' finest pothry in th' wurruld is wrote be that frind iv young Hogan's, a man be th' name iv Roodyard Kipling. I see his pomes in th' pa-aper, Hinnissy; an' they're all right. They're all right, thim pomes. They was wan about scraggin' Danny Deever that done me a wurruld iv good. They was a la-ad I wanst knew be th' name iv Deever, an' like as not he was th' same man. He owed me money.
"And where do th' nickels come fr'm?" asked Mr. McKenna. "I put thim in," said Mr. Dooley. "Ivry twinty minutes I feed th' masheen a hatful iv nickels, so that whin me frinds dhrop in they won't be dissypinted, d'ye mind. 'Tis a fine invistment for a young man. Little work an' large profits. It rayminds me iv Hogan's big kid an' what he done with his coin.
Katz is to blame for what happened." "That's like him!" growled Burton. "He's getting it all around. See what he did to me!" "He's a pesky varmint!" grunted Hill. "He might 'a' died, there in Hogan's bungalow, if it hadn't been for Clancy. It was almost the same as turnin' on the fellow that saved his life. I ain't got no use for such coyotes."
"Hogan?" said he, leaning forward; "did I hear you mention Smuggler Hogan, of the Sylvia?" "I called him Uriah Hogan," said Hill. "It's all one and the same. Hogan's bad medicine." The man surveyed Clancy with an approving eye.
A rescuing party was started out and in the pale moonlight they came upon the body of poor Denny lying stark and stiff under the telegraph line, his left hand grasping the instrument and the key open. A bullet hole in his head mutely told how he had met his death. Beside him lay the Indian, dead, one hand grasping Hogan's scalp lock, the other clasping a murderous-looking knife.
Shea's words produced a marked effect; but no more so than did Hogan's, whom grief and liquor had made somewhat maudlin.
"No," faltered Hogan, alarmed at the stem looks of his captors. "What is it?" "Death by hanging," was the terrible reply. Hogan's face blanched, and he sank on his knees before them. "Don't let me be hung!" he entreated. "You've got the nugget back. I've done no harm. No one has lost anything by me." "Eight of us have lost our time in pursuing you.
Bat went down in the dark, an' Hycy an' his mother had some conversation in a low voice on the lobby. She seemed angry, an' he was speakin' soft an' strivin' to put her into good humor again. I then dipt back to bed, but the never a wink could I get till mornin'; an' when I went down, the first thing I saw was Bat Hogan's shoes.
He corroborated Hogan's statement as to Ray's language about the pistol; said that he had gone to bed up-stairs at eleven o'clock, leaving Ray reading in the room below, and knew nothing more of the affair until called by Hogan, when he had run to Mr. Gleason's quarters, and after a moment had taken Ray home and insisted on his going to bed.
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