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Just then Private Kelly raised his head for a look at the adjacent grove. As he did so a shot rang out over in the grove and Kelly uttered an exclamation of disgust. "Hit, Kelly?" queried Sergeant Hal, stepping over to him. Private Kelly spat out two loose front teeth and some blood. "Ye see what happened, Sarge," retorted Kelly. "It's a good thing the fellow drew a bead on me profile.
"I can't," he replied impatiently. "You'll have to do that, Sarge. Hang it, can't you see where I stand? The mere fact that Lessard was taking her about shows that these officers' women have received her with open arms.
"What the devil!" he cried hotly, jingling the handcuffs. "Ah, come off," Hickey advised him. "Yeh can't bluff it for ever, you know. Come along and tell the sarge all about it, Daniel Maitland, Es-quire, alias Handsome Dan Anisty, gentleman burglar.... Ah, cut that out, young fellow; yeh'll find this ain't no laughin' matter. Yeh're foxy, all right, but yeh've pushed yer run of luck too hard."
Hickey's jaw sagged. The cabby ostentatiously covered his mouth with a huge red paw and made choking noises. "Pass it up, sarge, pass it up," he whispered hoarsely. "Shut yer trap," snapped the detective. "I know what I'm doin'. This crook's clever all right, but I got the kibosh on him this time. Lemme alone." He squared his shoulders, blustering to save his face. "I don't know why yeh done it "
"Well, you come down town with me. I want to introjuce you to somebody." "Great!" "Say, Sarge, have they sent that appointment in yet?" "No, they haven't, Fuselli," said the top sergeant. "It's all made out," he added encouragingly. They walked towards the town silently. The evening was silvery- violet. The few windows in the old grey-green houses that were lighted shone orange.
Sitting up in the next-hand cot to his on the right was a member of his own company, one Paul Dempsey, now rather elaborately bandaged as to his head and shoulders, but seemingly otherwise in customary good order and spirits. "Hello, Dempsey," he said. "Hello, sarge," answered back Dempsey. "How you feelin' by now all right?" "Guess so.
"Let's go and have a drink an' then come back," said Fuselli. They went to the cafe where Marie of the white arms presided. Fuselli paid for two hot rum punches. "You see it's this way, Sarge," he said confidentially, "I wrote all my folks at home I'd been made corporal, an' it'ld be a hell of a note to be let down now." The top sergeant was drinking his hot drink in little sips.
And now here he was himself—one of Rennie’s riders—involved in a saloon fight with troopers. Drew began to realize that this could be even worse than the physical punishment he and Anse had suffered. "You ... bartender—" The sergeant now looked to Fowler. "What’d you see?" "You ain’t gonna take his word for it, for anythin’ in this mudhole of a town, are you, Sarge?
But I ain't kicking at getting a dentist's services for nothing. No, that ain't my kick." "What is wrong, then?" laughed Hal. "Why, that blamed bullet was hot, and the Moro made me swallow it! It was so hot that it burned all the way down! Got any ice, Sarge?" A burst came from a dozen distant rifles at once.
"The Strawmyer farm night-before-last, the Amrine farm last night Yeah, that would be about right." "That'll suit Steve Parker; bobcats aren't protected, so it's not his trouble. And they're not a violation of state law, so it's none of our worry," Conner said. "Your deal, isn't it, Sarge?" "Yeah. Wait a minute." The sergeant got to his feet.
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