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Updated: May 17, 2025
As she passed out, a quick, covert glance told us to follow. We did so and the two turned into Broadway. "Let me present you to Miss McCann," introduced Mrs. Sutphen as we caught up with them. "Miss McCann is a social worker and trained investigator whom I'm employing." We bowed, but before we could ask a question, Mrs. Sutphen cried excitedly: "I think I have a clue, anyway.
"Do you know what's the matter with him, Pat?" continued Ewen. Pat McCann, the faithful friend and shadow of young Pickles, after studying the attitude and motions of his friend, gave answer: "It's the preacher, I guess. He's kiddin' the kids inside. He's some kidder, too," he said, moving to take his place beside his friend. "What's he doing anyway?" said Ewen. "I'm going to see."
"If there's anything in your line aboard, chief," he said blandly, "help yourself!" Some of us laughed. I thought things a little too close to be funny. Since the Celebrity had lost his nerve and betaken himself to the place of concealment Mr. Cooke had prepared for him, the whole composition of the affair was changed. Before, if McCann had arrested the ostensible Mr.
There was nothing now but to carry it off with a high hand. McCann got up. "Be your lave, Mr. Crocker," he said. "Never you mind me, McCann," I replied, "but you do what is right." With that he began his search. It might have been ludicrous if I had had any desire to laugh, for the chief wore the gingerly air of a man looking for a rattlesnake which has to be got somehow.
There was something amusing in the audacity of the fellow which all of us liked, though he was fifteen years the junior of our foreman. McCann pointed out Flood to him, and taking his well-loaded plate, he went over and sat down by our foreman, and while he ate talked rapidly, to enlist our outfit in the building of the bridge.
Was it possible that I, like Mr. Trevor, had been deprived of all the morals I had ever possessed? Could it be that the district attorney was looking calmly on while Mr. Cooke wilfully corrupted the Far Harbor chief-of-police? As agonizing a minute as I ever had in my life was that which it took McCann to survey those cigars.
'T ain't generous, Aileen; 't ain't like a true woman; 't ain't like you to go back on a man just because he has sinned. He stands in need of us all now, although they say at the sheds he can hold his own with the best of 'em I heard the manager telling Emlie he'd be foreman of Shed Number Two if he kept on, for he's the only one can get on with all of the foreigners; guess Jim McCann knows "
For Jack McCann, who owned a fast mare, was exercising her out here this afternoon preparatory for a race against some cow-ponies over on the San Pedro next week. He had trotted her down the road and was about to head her back toward the saloon for her burst of speed when he saw the buckboard coming over a rise. The mules were fagged. The constable was lashing them with might and main.
It would have been no trouble to send some one up the river to meet our wagon and pilot McCann to the herd, for the trail left on a line due north from the river. We had been lounging about for an hour while the cattle were resting, when our attention was attracted by our saddle horses in the bottom.
When the steer was freed, McCann, having no horse at hand, climbed into the wagon, while the rest of us sought safety in our saddles, and gave him a wide berth. When he came to his feet he was sullen with rage and refused to move out of his tracks. Priest rode out and baited him at a distance, and McCann, from his safe position, attempted to give him a scare, when he savagely charged the wagon.
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