Dick Prescott watched the pair, feeling a rising resentment against the deputy. Yet Valden was only resorting to tricks as old as the police themselves—-the taunting of a prisoner into talking too much and thereby betraying his guilt.
"Pardon me, Tag," Dick now interposed, "but it's a principle of law that a prisoner doesn't have to talk unless he wants to. I don't believe, if I were you, I'd say anything just now."
"I'm not going to say anything more," Tag retorted moodily, yet with a flash of somewhat sullen gratitude to Prescott.
"Humph! You'd better talk, and get all you know out of your system," advised Deputy Valden contemptuously. "And the first thing you'd better own up to is pulling the missing planks up from this crazy old bridge."
Tag snorted, yet had no word to say. Instead, as best he could with his hands in the steel bracelets, he helped himself to a seat on the ground his back against a tree. Either he was extremely weary, or he was pretending cleverly.
"Come! I guess you can talk better standing up," admonished Deputy Valden, seizing Tag by the coat collar and dragging him to his feet. Mosher accepted the implied order in sullen silence.
"Is it necessary, Mr. Valden, to torment the prisoner?" asked
Dick quietly.
"The way I handle a prisoner is my business," replied Valden rather crisply.
"You'd rather sit down, wouldn't you,
Tag?" Dick inquired. Young Mosher answered only with a nod.
"It makes you feel weaker to stand, doesn't it?" Prescott continued.