The chief said:
"About seven years ago there used to be an old fraud named Skinner, a sort of horse-doctor, who stepped somewhat over the line and walked off with some other fellow's nag. He is now putting in his time at Jefferson City. He was hale fellow well met with all that gang, especially Swanson, and I think if you could run down to Jefferson City, put the case before the warden, you could get pointers from him."
That afternoon Chip was in Jefferson City, and walking over to the penitentiary, found the warden willing, and Skinner was called to the visitor's cage.
He had three years more to serve, and, on being told that any service he could render the State would be taken into account and to his credit, he gave Chip a minute and detailed description of his costume, manner of doing business, and brought up many interesting reminiscenses, which Chip carefully noted.
Sam, who had a peculiar talent for disguises, was to take the part of Doctor Skinner, and Chip as his negro servant could slip in and out without attracting much attention.
It was in these assumed characters that the detectives made their entre into Swanson's habitat.
Further private conversation was barred by the massive form of Swanson filling the door, and urging his friend the Doctor to let "his nigger" take charge of the stock.
"Can't be did, colonel," said the Doctor, "can't be trusted alone near this pack. Scip has too much love for the bottom of the flask to allow him too much freedom here."
"Well, I'll send one of the boys out. Hyar, you, Abe; mosey out thar and yank that pack in hyar."
Abe, a strong, strapping young plainsman, lifted the pack to his shoulder, and, followed by the "Easy, young man; step lightly; glass, you know; this side up with care," of the doctor, deposited it upon the floor.