"Hi, there, Nelson!" came a voice from the other side of the cornfield.
"Hi, Queen, what's the matter?"
"Call off your dogs, unless you want me to shoot them!" exclaimed Adam
Adams.
"Blast you, don't you shoot my dogs," was the answer, and in a moment more Matlock Styles put in an appearance. He carried a dog-whip and motioned the animals away. "Back, Nelson, you bloody brute! Back, Queen!" And both animals slunk to his rear.
"Thanks! I am glad you came," said Adam Adams, and slipped his pistol back into his pocket.
"Are you?" sneered the Englishman. "If you had killed one of those dogs you would have gotten into a mess, I can warrant. They are worth a hundred pounds—five hundred dollars—each."
"Great smoke! I'm glad I didn't touch 'em, sir. I couldn't pay for one leg," and the detective grinned.
"What are you doing in this field?"
"I thought I'd take a short-cut to the Knoxbury road. It's getting late and I want to get back to the tavern there."
"The Knoxbury road? Why, man, you're a good three miles out of your bloomin' way. The Knoxbury road isn't this way—it's over there," and Matlock Styles pointed with his whip.
"Is that so? Then I'm twisted. Too bad! I'm so dog tired I can't walk much further either."