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Updated: June 14, 2025
"And remember, Prescott," called Simmons, "you've been aiding the county to-night, and the county will pay Doctor Cutting's bill." Valden and Simmons exchanged some words in an undertone, after which the latter deputy came over to where Prescott sat. "Valden tells me you have been interfering between him and Tag Mosher," began the officer. "How was it?"
Yet Valden was only resorting to tricks as old as the police themselves -the taunting of a prisoner into talking too much and thereby betraying his guilt. "Pardon me, Tag," Dick now interposed, "but it's a principle of law that a prisoner doesn't have to talk unless he wants to. I don't believe, if I were you, I'd say anything just now."
The first two weeks behind bars will kill me!" "You should have thought of that before you cracked Leigh's skull," retorted Deputy Valden. "I tell you that I didn't do it, and that I never before heard of a man of that name!" cried Tag Mosher fiercely. "Leigh says you did," the deputy again informed the prisoner. "Oh, well, then, we'll say that I did," agreed Tag moodily.
"But I think I have a right to object when I see a human being tormented needlessly, haven't I?" "You have no right to interfere in any way with an officer," rejoined Valden less brusquely. "Nor do I intend trying to interfere with a peace officer in anything proper that he does," Dick went on quietly, though with spirit. "It seems that Tag Mosher has a right to rest himself by sitting down.
So, when he left, he took with him a sawed-off shotgun -one of the wickedest weapons ever invented -and a revolver and plenty of ammunition. That's what I'm doing in the woods now. I came to see if you had seen Tag to-day, but your asking for news of him shows me that you haven't." "Is Mr. Valden with you?" asked Dick. "Yes; he's over at the road, in the car. He wouldn't come to camp.
"If Tag hasn't been to your camp within three nights," said Mr. Simmons, leaning back while Mr. Valden ran the car, "then it's because he isn't in this neighborhood. So we'll travel on a few miles before we stop to do any real searching." "I don't understand how you can expect to find anyone out here in the night time," Dick observed.
"I've some plans in my mind," was all the explanation Simmons offered. When the road became a little better, Valden put on a bit more speed. "Better slow down," advised Simmons presently. "There's a bridge ahead that isn't any, too strong." That bridge was closer than the deputy thought. Just then the automobile top brushed heavily against foliage in making a wooded turn in the road.
"Is it necessary, Mr. Valden, to torment the prisoner?" asked Dick quietly. "The way I handle a prisoner is my business," replied Valden rather crisply. "You'd rather sit down, wouldn't you, Tag?" Dick inquired. Young Mosher answered only with a nod. "It makes you feel weaker to stand, doesn't it?" Prescott continued. Another nod. "Mr.
"There's the bridge!" yelled Simmons almost excitedly. "Slow down -stop!" Valden tried to obey, but the bridge was altogether too close for stopping in time. Out over the planks ran the car. R-r-rip! Crash! Some of the boards were already missing from the rude bridge. Others gave way almost like paper.
Instead, as best he could with his hands in the steel bracelets, he helped himself to a seat on the ground his back against a tree. Either he was extremely weary, or he was pretending cleverly. "Come! I guess you can talk better standing up," admonished Deputy Valden, seizing Tag by the coat collar and dragging him to his feet. Mosher accepted the implied order in sullen silence.
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