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Updated: June 28, 2025
Mattison was a good-looking and rather ill-natured young giant, but it did not strike me at the time, nor later in the light of succeeding events, that he was particularly endowed with brains. By way of occupation, he was described as being in "politics"; at that time he was sheriff of the county, and was fully aware of the importance of the office.
It was openly said that Polly Mathers would be doing a great deal better if she chose young Mattison, for though he might not have the prospect of as much money as Radnor Gaylord, he was infinitely the steadier of the two.
It was only because it was policy on my part not to make him an active enemy that I tolerated his presence at all. I presented Terry; though Mattison took his calling more calmly than the others, still I caught several sidewise glances in his direction, and I think he was impressed. "Happy to know you, Mr. Patten," he remarked as he helped himself to a chair and settled it at the general angle.
Mattison led the way through the yard, past a dark house, and across the street to a roomy frame residence. "Come in with me," he said to Harvey. "You can't go back to the hotel now." Harvey laughed nervously and nodded. Mattison opened the door with his night key, and with the heavy books in their arms the two burglars stole up to bed.
There came a crash from above, and a muttered oath, and Harvey knew that the door had given way. He gave the ladder a shove, and as it fell upon the cobblestones with a great noise, he turned and sped up the alley after a dark figure that was already near to the corner. He caught up with Mattison in the next block, and relieved him of half the load.
If I had had your chance of examining the cave on the day of the crime," he added, "I think I should know." "You might, and again you might not," said Mattison.
Mattison left the office and hurried to the stairway. On the landing he met a newsboy who was running up, calling: "Shcago Even' Papers! Extry! All about big railroad war!" Mattison seized a paper and glanced at the headings. "Fight for M. & T.," he read. "Trunk Line Gobbles Small Road." His eye ran over the article; it was dated that afternoon from Truesdale.
"Who was he?" Joe asked. Mahooley shrugged. "Search me! Long before my time." "If old Musq'oosis is no relation, what does he hang around for?" asked the first questioner. "Oh, he's always kind of looked after her," said Mahooley. "The other Indians hate her. They think she's too uppish." "She feeds him; I guess that's reason enough for him to stick around," remarked Mattison.
Mattison had a map drawn for Harvey, which showed every station, curve, switch, and siding; this Harvey studied during the lulls in the conversation, and as he already was familiar with all but the minor details of construction, he soon had his information upon a working basis. At six-fifteen Mattison came in. "Mr. Weeks," he said, "the despatcher reports something the matter.
The truth had at last forced itself upon him that his chances with Polly were over. Terry reappeared, two hours later, with a very excited young woman beside him. They joined us in the bare little parlor of the jail, and if Mattison needed any further proof that the end had come, Polly's greeting furnished it.
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