“He must have it about him now.”
“It is easy enough to decide that point. Search him.”
Old Joe was standing with his arms folded on his breast, apparently not at all concerned by the hubbub.
One of the officers advanced and grasped him by the shoulder, saying:
“Hand over that knife!”
“No got knife,” was the scornful answer.
“Hand it over!” sharply and threateningly commanded the policeman.
“No got knife,” repeated the redskin.
“Don’t lie! I saw you have it.”
“No got it.”