“I’m ready for him,” exclaimed the angered citizen as he hurriedly trotted off and confronted Mike Murphy a few seconds later.
We have learned of the pointed conversation which passed between them. Mike’s first thought was that it was one of the robbers who had held him up, but there was no gainsaying the argument brought to bear against him. He remained with hands uplifted, awaiting the will of his captor.
“So you’re one of those post office robbers,” said Mr. Buxton, partly lowering his weapon.
“Not that I know of,” replied Mike, beginning to scent the truth.
“Have you a pistol?”
“The only deadly wippon I have is me pocketknife, with its two blades broke and the handle being lost some time since.”
“Where is the rest of your gang?” demanded the man, stepping closer to the youth.
“The two frinds that I have are wid the widder Mrs. Friestone, doing their best to entertain the leddy and her daughter, while I started out to chase one of the spalpeens that run too fast for me to catch.”
Mr. Buxton stepped still nearer. He was becoming doubtful.
“Who the mischief are you, anyway?”