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Updated: June 8, 2025
"Mind out, Buck Bradford!" "Have you had enough?" I demanded. "Yes, I have!" "O, well, if you are satisfied, I am, though you are not very good-natured about it. Next time you want to hit me over the head with the mail-bag, just remember that when I am awake I keep my eyes open," I replied, coiling up the lash of my whip.
A stack of mail comes to Police Headquarters every morning from the precincts by special department carrier. It includes the reports for the last twenty-four hours of stolen and recovered goods, complaints, and the thousand and one things the official mail-bag contains from day to day.
The mail-bag had almost a personality to him, born of long association. Mr. Briley was a meek and timid-looking body, but he held a warlike soul, and encouraged his fancies by reading awful tales of bloodshed and lawlessness in the far West.
I was rather pleased to have his company home on the lonely ride from Riverport, and I confess that I was somewhat proud of making the acquaintance of the distinguished gentleman. "Don't be in a hurry, Buck," said Ham Fishley, as I picked up the mail-bag. I stopped and looked at him, for his tones were more conciliatory than I had heard him use within my remembrance.
"I know it, but that makes me all the more welcome." He heaved the mail-bag to Bailey. "There's a letter for every girl in the crowd, I know, for I wrote 'em." "We'll believe that when we see the letters," the girls replied. He dismounted heavily. "Somebody put my team up. I'm hungry as a wolf and dry as a biscuit." "The poor thing," said one of the girls. "He means a cracker."
"Thee seems to have a good deal of cheek," he reflected, as he emptied the mail-bag, "but thee's certainly cheerful." Within a week every resident of Muscatel had heard the sound of Jerry Sullivan's voice.
He rode a splendid horse that was born for a racer and fed and lodged like a gentleman; kept him at his utmost speed for ten miles, and then, as he came crashing up to the station where stood two men holding fast a fresh, impatient steed, the transfer of rider and mail-bag was made in the twinkling of an eye, and away flew the eager pair and were out of sight before the spectator could get hardly the ghost of a look.
Peter Petrie sustained in this act of conscience a grievous wrench, for it foreshadowed parting with the choice missive filched from the mail-bag, but he was not unmindful of the anguish and bereavement of the mother, and somehow the thought was peculiarly coercive at this season.
Briley often made his seven-mile journey in entire solitude, except for the limp leather mail-bag, which he held firmly to the floor of the carriage with his heavily shod left foot. The mail-bag had almost a personality to him, born of long association. Mr.
How oddly the wheel-horses looked, all backs and no legs! and how mysteriously many were the reins that were tied round and round the iron lantern-rod! "Just let me put the mail-bag under your feet, Miss Prince. Here we are, now, all right, and nothin' to do but go along!" "Now, then!" "Come up! come! come!"
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