“I reckon yu’ hev it,” was the hopeless reply. “Me own worst friend! But—I hev always bin honest.”
The policeman considered the other’s face a moment or two longer, then suddenly made up his mind.
“I’ll take a chance on it,” he muttered; then, raising his voice. “See here; look, Bryan,” he said. “Sizin’ things up as they’ve panned out up to date, I believe yu’ve been tellin’ me th’ straight tale, all right. Now, I’ve got another feller in here—locked up. There’s only one cell. But I’m not a-goin’ to shut yu’ in with a dirty criminal like him, if yu’ll give me yore word as th’ honest man yu’ call yoreself, yu’ won’t try to skip out on me. I’ll be away tonight—or th’ best part o’ th’ night—on duty. So yu’ an’ this feller’ll be alone in here. Yu’re not to talk to him, mind. Yu’ can give him a cup o’ water thru’ th’ bars if he wants it, but no matches or anythin’ to smoke. I’m takin’ no chances on a fire while I’m away. Yu’ can just lay around an’ sleep on my cot, an’ let that feller think as yu’re a-watchin’ him. ’Member,” he added warningly, “if yu’ did try to skip, I could easy catch yu’ ag’in ... an’ it’d be a sure sign yu’ was a guilty accomplice o’ these fellers. I need yu’ as an all-important witness, an’ this is th’ only chance yu’ve got of gettin’ clear. D’yu’ get me now?”
The old man, seeming grateful at the trust thus reposed in him, eagerly gave the required promise.
“Son,” he said solemnly. “I give yu’ my word. Yu’re treatin’ me like a white man.”
CHAPTER X
Now, gallant Saxon, hold thine own!
No maiden’s hand is round thee thrown!
That desperate grasp thy frame might feel,
Through bars of brass and triple steel!—
They tug, they strain! down, down they go,
The Gael above, Fitz-James below.
—Scott
Seven o’clock came, and the Sergeant, with a few parting instructions to old Hiram Bryan, saddled up and departed for Gallagher’s.
The latter who, pipe in mouth, was seated on the steps of his shack busily splicing a hondu in a rawhide lariat, or riata, looked up at the other’s approach, and glanced curiously at the Sergeant’s unfamiliar dress and mount.
“Hello,” he said waggishly. “Fancy-dress ball, eh? What’s th’ idea?”