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Updated: June 8, 2025
'We should 'a' cleared. We oughter clear now. We'll be nabbed if we stay. 'We'll be nabbed if we bolt, replied Rogers. 'The man as cleared now would be spotted as the guilty party, an' half the p'lice in the country 'd be up an' after him. No, here we are, an' here we stick fer better or worse. 'But if they've got the gold, why don't they do somethin'? There's no word of it.
"What have you here, my lad?" "Me pie," responds he, with an innocent look; "I wuz scart it would get stole." A little fellow who has been eying one of the visitors attentively takes his knife out of his mouth, and points it at him with conviction. "I know you," he pipes. "You're a p'lice commissioner. I seen yer picter in the papers. You're Teddy Roosevelt!"
Could you get that face from a Limburger cheese? And the dope? After handing you a valentine that 'ud scare a blind Choyeuse, and you couldn't rec'nize for a man without a spy glass, they set right in to tell you he's 'wanted' for things he did in the North-west two and a haf years ago. The p'lice have been chasing him for two and a haf years.
"I'd say it's the sharps are worrying the p'lice about now. The prohibition law has got 'em plumb on edge. The other things are dead easy to 'em. You see, a feller shoots up another and they're after him, red hot on his trail. They'll get him sure in the end, because he's wanted at any time or place. It's different running whisky. They got to get the fellow in the act o' running it.
Without replying, she laid her hand on Dick's collar, and held him close to her. The other man grew more threatening. "I'll go to the p'lice, and tell 'em you've got a savage dog that ought to be shot, 'cause he isn't safe!" he shouted out, furious with anger and fear. "He isn't savage, he's good-tempered," Huldah burst forth, at last.
A preacher frets me; not for himse'f exactly, but you never sees preachers without seein' p'lice folks preachers an' p'lice go hand in hand, like prairie dogs an' rattlesnakes an' born as I be in Tennessee, where we has our feuds an' where law is a interference an' never a protection, I'm nacherally loathin' constables complete.
A sound of banging became audible, and on advancing another two paces, Kerry found himself beside Bryce before a low closed door. "Hello! hello!" croaked a dim voice. "Number one p'lice chop, lo! Sin Sin Wa!" The flat note of a police whistle followed. "Sin Sin is at home," declared Bryce. "That's the raven." "Does he take the thing about with him, then?" "I don't think so.
"But I guess I need to collect things. My papers. Kit. I've a right that way. You can't deny it," Murray protested swiftly. "You got no rights in this layout." It was Kars who replied. "You'll pass right on down the river for Leaping Horse. And you aren't stopping on the way to pay calls. Guess the p'lice in Leaping Horse will allow you your rights.
The eye of Sin Sin Wa glanced sideways at him. "Well, Sin Sin," said Sir Lucien, dropping a match and extinguishing it under his foot, "you see I am not smoking tonight." "No smokee," murmured the Chinaman. "Velly good stuff." "Yes, the stuff is all right, Sin." "Number one proper," crooned Sin Sin Wa, and relapsed into smiling silence. "Number one p'lice," croaked the raven sleepily.
When the meal was finished, old Oliver took his daughter's letter from his waistcoat pocket and read it aloud to Tony, who listened with undivided interest. "Then she's your own little 'un," he said, with a sigh of disappointment. "You'll never give her up to me, if you get tired of her, nor to the p'lice neither," he added, with a brightening face. "No, no, no!" answered Oliver, emphatically.
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