“Good-day, Jedge! My name's J. B. Cadwaller, Lone Pine, Montana. I—”
“Take your hat off in the court!” said the orderly sharply.
Mr. Cadwaller slowly surveyed the orderly with an expression of interested curiosity in his eyes, removing his hat as he did so.
“Say, you're pretty swift, ain't yuh? You might give a feller a show to git in his interductions,” said Mr. Cadwaller. “I was jes goin' to interdooce to you, Jedge, these gentlemen from my own State, District Attorney Hiram S. Sligh and Mr. Rufus Raimes, rancher.”
The Commissioner duly acknowledged the introduction, standing to receive the strangers with due courtesy.
“Now, Jedge, I want to see yer Chief of Police. I've got a case for him.”
“I have the honor to be the Commissioner. What can I do for you?”
“Waal, Jedge, we don't want to waste no time, neither yours nor ours. The fact is some of yer blank blank Indians have been rustlin' hosses from us fer some time back. We don't mind a cayuse now and then, but when it comes to a hull bunch of vallable hosses there's where we kick and we ain't goin' to stand fer it. And we want them hosses re-stored. And what's more, we want them blank blank copper snakes strung up.”
“How many horses have you lost?”
“How many? Jeerupiter! Thirty or forty fer all I know, they've been rustlin' 'em for a year back.”