“I wish I was home.”
“Huh!”
“I don’t want to go to jail.”
“Who’s going to jail?”
“We are. Didn’t you hear what he said about handcuffs?”
“They can’t put us in jail for breaking up a poker game with a greased pig,” the leader waggled, his jaw squared. “We may have to pay a fine, but that’s nothing to worry about. A bigger concern in my mind is the girl.” [[144]]
“I don’t believe,” Peg spoke up, thoughtful, “that they have a right to arrest us outside of town for the pig trick. It looks to me like spite work on the policeman’s part.”
Scoop passed quickly to the open window, to learn, I imagine, if there was any chance of escape for us in that direction.
“Lookit!” he pointed.
Below us, comfortably seated in the shade of a tree, a shotgun in his lap, the lock tender was contentedly munching a big rosy apple.