“No,” said a voice. “But he has been giving out docterings that won’t go down with this county.”
“That’s so,” chimed in others.
“I acknowledge that,” said Mr. Knight. “But I say let’s shut him up and keep him until we can catch his brother. He can’t be far off.”
“I noticed that some of my men went into the bushes to find him,” said Mr. Sprague. “Some of them haven’t returned yet.”
“Very well. We’ll shut Cale up until we find that slippery brother, and then we’ll examine them both. We’ll find a room somewhere in the hotel—I see Bass Kennedy has got his corn in the jail and it would be hardly worth while to take it out for the sake of one prisoner—and, Eph, if you will keep watch of him I will relieve you in a couple of hours.”
“Well, say, Knight,” began Cale.
“Mister Knight, if you please. I am mister to all such fellows as you are. What were you going to say?”
“I want you to understand that you dassent hang me,” said Cale, not daring to venture upon the man’s surname again. Like everybody else in the county he had learned to call a man by his name without any fixture to it, and he did not care to begin now. His father had always spoken of him as “Knight,” and Cale thought he was as good as the President.
“Dassent, eh?” said Mr. Knight, with a look of surprise. “You will find that we dare do anything.”
“But I tell you that my father will tell the folks at Mobile about it,” whined Cale, almost ready to cry.