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Updated: May 16, 2025
Sautee cowered before the deadly ferocity in Rathburn's voice. "I had it in the office downtown," he stammered. "There was blank paper in that package, Mannix. Let him go let him go, Mannix, or we'll all be killed!" Sautee cried. Rathburn was looking steadily at the deputy. "Carlisle is roped an' tied up the trail by the big rocks," he said. "Send up there for him an' bring him down here."
"Jump in, sir," said unsuspecting Mannix, thinking only of the flogging he had been threatened with. "It'll be a dirty night, this night! Put this over your knees, sir. Shove her off! Give way!" And they were afloat.
He swore at the overburdened sailor who took his things ashore for him. Mannix proceeded in his turn to cross the gangway and was unceremoniously pushed from behind by the elderly gentleman. He protested with frigid politeness. "Don't dawdle, boy, don't dawdle," said the elderly gentleman. "Don't hustle," said Mannix. "This isn't a football scrimmage."
"Look here, friend, I'm Mannix, deputy from High Point. You'll sail smoother if you answer my questions straight." The deputy motioned to two men in the car. "Search him," he ordered. Then he stood back, six-shooter in hand. The stranger built a cigarette while the men were going through him.
Mannix retained, in spite of his sleepiness and his sensation of grime, a slight amount of self-control. He was moderately grateful to an obsequious sailor who relieved him of his kit bag. He carried, as he had the night before, his own gun-case and fishing-rod. The elderly gentleman, who carried nothing, had no self-control whatever.
There came the crack of Carlisle's pistol and a laugh from Rathburn. The deputy, gun in hand, stared at Rathburn who rose quickly to his feet. Then he thought to cover him. Rathburn raised his hands while Carlisle returned his own smoking weapon to its holster. Mannix turned and glared at Carlisle in perplexity.
Mannix's eyes hardened before he spoke again. He hesitated, but when his words came they were clear-cut and stern. "Then come with me an' I'll show you where to sleep." "You mean in jail?" queried Rathburn. Mannix nodded coldly.
The black reputation he had given to Rathburn led him to believe that the man could not be depended upon, and that he was liable to carry out his threat and blow them all to bits. He wet his lips with a feverish tongue. "Where's the money you an' Carlisle got away with?" demanded Mannix. "I've got all I took," whined Sautee. "I'll give it back. I don't know what Carlisle's done with his.
Dupré himself joined with uproarious tunefulness in a chorus which went tolerably trippingly to the air of "Here's to the Maiden of Bashful Fifteen." "Here's to the House, Edmonstone House. Floreat semper Edmonstone House." Mannix trolled the words out in a clear tenor voice. One after another of the eleven, even Fenton, the slow bowler who had no ear for music, picked them up.
"I told you you was plumb full of information," said Rathburn. "The Coyote has a bit of a record, they tell me," Carlisle leered. "There's more'n one sheriff would pay a pretty price to get him safe, eh?" "Just what's your idea in telling me all this, Carlisle; why don't you tell what you know to Mannix, say?" "Maybe I'm just teasing you along." "Not a chance, Carlisle. I know your breed."
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