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If Dorgan had stolen Monty, it was pleasant to think that he was now wending his way across the plains on foot. Another idea occurred to Whitey. "Why don't you stay with me, Injun?" he demanded. "Then we can ride back to the Bar O together." Injun grinned his agreement to the idea, not saying that he had thought of it first.
"Yes," prompted Kennedy, "but, impersonation what do you mean by that?" "Why, early to-day someone called me up, said he was Dorgan, and asked if I would have any objection to meeting him. I said I would meet him only it would do no good. Then, apparently, the same person called up Dorgan and said he was myself, asking if he had any objection to meeting me. Dorgan said he'd see.
And back to the station I had to carry the basket, and all the schemes I had to make old Tom Dorgan grin. All the way back I had him in my mind. He's a tiger Tom when he's roused. I could see him, shut up there by himself, with not a soul to talk to, with not a human eye to look into, with not a thing on earth to do Tom, who's action itself!
"She lies," he almost hissed. "Just a moment," interrupted Dorgan. "What has that to do with Miss Blackwell, anyhow?" Sybil Seymour did not pause. "It is true," she reiterated. "This is what it has to do with Betty Blackwell. Listen. He is the man who led me on, who would have done the same to Betty Blackwell. I yielded, but she fought.
When the vigilantes arrived, Dorgan was striving to return the compliment. He had succeeded in killing Injun's borrowed horse, behind which that expert young person had barricaded himself. It took but a minute to tell this story. Again Injun indicated Dorgan and said: "Him drop something." Running back in the course Dorgan had taken, Injun returned with a small but heavy canvas bag.
Appealing to the Governor and Board of Pardons of my home State, we made it appear that Dorgan was a reformed man and no longer a menace to society, and in due time had the satisfaction of seeing him set legally free.
You'd better keep your eye on Nancy Olden, or first thing you know she'll marry the Czar of Russia or Tom Dorgan, poor fellow, when he gets out! ... Well, just the same, Mag, if that white-faced, scrawny little creature can be a Lady, a girl with ten times her brains, and at least half a dozen times her good looks oh, we're not shy on the stage, Mag, about throwing bouquets at ourselves!
So far Dorgan had been an utter disappointment. Not only had he refrained from beating it, but he had greeted the boys pleasantly when they met. As far as outward appearances went, Dorgan might have been a Sunday school superintendent. Had he been one at heart, there would be no more story for me to tell. But there were times when Dorgan could be forgotten.
Indeed, it seemed as if he really enjoyed matching his wit against the subtlety of a man like Langhorne, even more than against one the type of Dorgan and Murtha. "I want to see Carton and I don't want to carry these bundles all over the city," he remarked, changing the subject for the moment, as he turned into a public pay station.
'Whin ye've been in politics as long as I have, ye'll know, he says, 'that th' roly-boly is th' gr-reatest or-rator on earth, he says. 'Th' American nation in th' Sixth Ward is a fine people, he says. 'They love th' eagle, he says, 'on th' back iv a dollar, he says. 'Well, says Dorgan, 'I can't undherstand it, he says. 'I med as manny as three thousan' speeches, he says.
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