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Updated: May 14, 2025
"You know how to put these things on, don't you?" "I can figure the job out, sir," Dave made reply. Tag submitted, wearily, to having the steel bracelets snapped over his wrists. Then he heaved a sigh that had something of a sob in it. "I let you put these on, but I wish you'd take them off again," he said, addressing Valden.
"Dave and Greg are holding down Tag Mosher." "You're not fooling, are you?" demanded the deputy. "You're not making any mistake, either?" "We know Tag Mosher when we see him," Darry retorted. "We've good enough reason for knowing him." With his uninjured left hand Deputy Valden reached for his pair of handcuffs, passing them to Dave. "Here you are, Darrin," said the officer.
"The back part of the car is for you youngsters. That reminds me. We don't know each other's names. Mine's Simmons." The other deputy's name proved to be Valden. The boys quickly introduced themselves. Away went the car, over the rough roads. To avoid sending warning too far ahead the lights were turned low. On account of the condition of this rough forest road the speed was slow.
Valden," Dick pressed, "I hope you won't think me too forward, but I believe this prisoner, and I am going to urge you to let him find comfort by sitting down and resting." "What have you got to say about it?" demanded Mr. Valden, so brusquely that Dick flushed. "I'm not in a position of authority, and I admit it," Prescott replied.
"I'm not going to say anything more," Tag retorted moodily, yet with a flash of somewhat sullen gratitude to Prescott. "Humph! You'd better talk, and get all you know out of your system," advised Deputy Valden contemptuously. "And the first thing you'd better own up to is pulling the missing planks up from this crazy old bridge." Tag snorted, yet had no word to say.
Down through the structure fell the car, then landed with a splash, overturning to the accompaniment of cries of fright and of pain from its occupants. As the water in the creek was barely three feet deep, Officer Valden sprang from the car, holding his right hand, which had been caught in the brake mechanism. Deputy Simmons appeared to be uninjured.
"Say," demanded Darry, "have we been exerting ourselves to thrash an ambulance case?" His voice rang with self disgust. "If I'd been a well one," growled Tag, "you never would have put me down, or held me. But I'm like a kitten to-night strength all gone!" "What's going on here?" asked Deputy Valden, putting in a more leisurely appearance. "Something right in your line," Dick answered.
Here their voices died out in the distance, but Valden went along willingly enough. When the pair returned the deputy seemed to have lost his swagger. "Doc, you've been good to me," said Tag at last, "and now I'll tell you how I came to hurt my ankle. You know, of course, that I visited one of your shacks and helped myself to some of your kitchen stuff.
"Anyway, you're in a rather bad fix, young man," confirmed Deputy Valden. "Even with the best luck you'll be locked up for some years to come." "That will kill me!" muttered Tag sullenly. "I can't live anywhere outside of the big forest. In jail -why, I'd die of lack of fresh air! My father, old Bill Mosher, can get along in jail all right -he's used to it. But me?
"I know I'm bad, and I know I'm tough, but I never had these things on my hands before. Take 'em off, won't you? Please!" Such submission was tame, indeed. Deputy Valden, who had never seen young Mosher before glanced sharply at young Prescott. "This fellow doesn't seem much like the hardened criminal I've been told about," remarked the officer.
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