“There must be some mistake,” answered the express official; “he had three when he crossed the Alabama River.”
“Rube says he has sold the other two,” was the answer.
“Rube never sells pistols,” replied the official, and knowing from the reports received that Rube always carried a sack, the inquiry was:
“What’s in the sack?”
“Nothing but provisions,” answered McDuffie.
The official then instructed McDuffie to handcuff and shackle the prisoner, put him in a cell of the jail and place half dozen men on guard.
McDuffie replied: “There are forty men on guard.”
Indeed, the whole town of Linden surrounded the jail, and McDuffie’s answer was not, perhaps, exaggerated.
When Rube’s supper was brought his hands were untied that he might eat and they were not again manacled. Rube sat and joked with his guards and visitors, entertaining them with his droll humor, which seemed never to forsake him. His shoes were badly worn, and a visitor remarking it, said:
“Rube, your shoes are badly run down—you need a new pair.”