Newcome started, and so did Ben.
"Yaw cahn't prove nowt."
"Yes I can. I've got your pocket book and the odd papers out of your coat pocket."
"Aw'll hae yaw oop vor stalun as well as shootun, zee iv I dawn't, yaw bloody thafe!"
"Keep a civil tongue in your head, man, or I'll send you to the lockup at once," interposed the Squire.
"Leave him to me Squire; I'll manage him," whispered Nash.
Then, turning to the injurious Newcome, he continued:
"Your daughter, Sarah Eliza, is at Rawdon's Select Encampment, where the stuff you sell is turned out. She can give some fine evidence. The Peskiwanchow crowd, the man that pretends to be called Jones, and the rest of them, were picked up by you in a waggon, I know, last night. The coal oil and fire marks are on your hands still, and this pretty rag came out of your side pocket. What is more, I don't need to ask the Squire here to commit you. I've got a warrant already, on the evidence of Henry and Stokes and Steadman. I'll serve that warrant on you now, and have you off to the county gaol, where Dr. Stapfer is bound to cut off your leg, if you don't own up quick, for I have no time to lose."
"Daw yaw thenk as Stapper ull ambitate ma laig?"
"I'm sure of it. He always does; he has a perfect mania for amputation. You know Driver?"