"Oh, quite a number, but not as many as he gets credit for. He comes in my private office every morning, and he's a great help to me. He was rather down at the heels right after the war, and then I happened to find out that he had a great talent in getting the truth out of criminals. We sometimes arrest a man against whom there is no direct evidence of guilt, and if we didn't have some one skilful enough to make him own up, we could do nothing. Buck always knows whether a fellow is guilty or not, and we turn over the suspects to him, and whatever he says goes. He sits in my office like a piece of furniture, and you'd think he was a wooden man. Now you go down with me, and go over your scheme so that Buck can hear you, and whatever he says do, will be the thing to do."
When Mr. Sanders and the Chief arrived at the head-quarters of the department, and entered the private office, they found a pale and somewhat emaciated young man sitting in a chair, which was leaned against the wall at a somewhat dangerous angle. He was apparently asleep; his eyes were closed, and he held between his teeth a short but handsome pipe. He made no movement whatever when the two entered the room. His hat was on the floor at the side of his chair, and had evidently fallen from his head. If Mr. Sanders had been called on to describe the young man, he would have said that he was a weasly looking creature, half gristle and half ghost. His hands were small and thin, and the skin of his face had the appearance of parchment.
At the request of the Chief, Mr. Sanders went over the details of his plan from beginning to end, and at the close the young man, who had apparently been asleep, remarked in a thin, smooth voice, "Won't it be a fine day for a parade!"
His eyes remained closed; he had not even taken the pipe out of his mouth. There was a silence of many long seconds. But the weasly looking man made no movement, nor did he add anything to his remark. Evidently, he had no more to say.
"Buck is right," said the Chief.
"What does he mean?" Mr. Sanders inquired.
"Why, he means that it will be a fine day for a general turn-out of the department," replied the Chief.
Mr. Sanders reflected a moment, and then made one of his characteristic comments. "Be jigged ef he ain't saved my life!"
"Captain Sanford, this is Mr. Sanders, of Shady Dale," said the Chief, by way of introducing the two men. Both rose, and Mr. Sanders found himself looking into the eyes of one of the most interesting characters that Georgia ever produced. Captain Buck Sanford was one of the last of the knights-errant, the self-constituted champion of all women, old or young, good or bad. He said of himself, with some drollery, that he was one of the scavengers of society, and he declared that the job was important enough to command a good salary.
No man in his hearing ever used the name of a woman too freely without answering for it; and it made no difference whether the woman was rich or poor, good or bad. Otherwise he was the friendliest and simplest of men, as modest as a woman, and entirely unobtrusive. His duel with Colonel Conrad Asbury, one of the most sensational events in the annals of duelling, owing to the fact that the weapons were shot-guns at ten paces, was the result of a remark the Colonel had made about a lady whom Sanford had never seen. But so far as the general public knew, it grew out of the fact that the Colonel had spilled some water on Sanford's pantaloons.