“NOW, we must get to work,” said Jeff, after hurried mutual explanations. “The natural impulse is to throw the customs house into the river, to link arms and walk up Main Street, five abreast, pushing the policemen off of the curb, raising our feet high and bringing them down ker-smack—hay-foot, straw-foot, right foot, left: now is the time for all good men—and the rest of it. But, perhaps, it wouldn’t be wise. We’ve got to catch Thorpe off his guard—and that may be hard to do——”
Wes’ pulled him down and whispered in his ear. Jeff’s face became radiant.
“And after we have him safe we’ll get the others. Let’s go down to the bank and steal a boat. Boys, this is Mr. MacGregor. We’ll take him with us. Mac, you’d better tie a handkerchief around your head. You’ll take cold.”
“Ye canna take a man from Mexico without extradeetion papers. It’s fair keednappin’,” said Mac with a leer.
“So we can’t, so we can’t,” said Jeff pleasantly. “Not live men. Go first. If you don’t come quietly——”
“Dinna tell me,” said the MacGregor scornfully. “Would I no have done as much for you? But let me tell you one thing—and that is that ye are showing small thanks to Thorpe for sparing your life.”
“Fudge! I didn’t ask him for my life and I owe him no gratitude,” said Jeff. “It was a square contract. I was to hang him if I could escape—and I had practically escaped when he agreed to it, except for the mere detail of time. I am doing nothing unfair. Go on!”
“You’re right, ’twas a contract—I’ll say nae mair,” admitted Mac grudgingly, and went up the stair.
Once on the street, however, he paused. “Mr. Bransford, there have been kindly passages atween us. Let me have a word more.”
“Well?” said Jeff.