“Wana!” he shouted. “Wacht-een-bietje! What’s bitin’ yu’ now, Dad?”
Tucker was tremulous and incoherent, but by degrees he managed to impart the somewhat belated news that “’is ’orses ’ad bin let aht of ’is field” during the night, and that “’e ’ad fahnd ’em abaht free mile sou’west from ’is plice.”
“Yu better let ’em stay out now, too,” said the Sergeant. And he told the old man everything. “Yu needn’t be scared of yore bunch no more now. What! Yu’ didn’t hear nothin’ in th’ night? Why, I reckon we made ’bout as much racket amongst us as yu’ do a-shovin’ yore old team along. I guess ‘Johnny Burke’ put yu’ to sleep, all right. Yu’d better outspan, now yu’ve got here, an’ turn yore team out in my pasture. We’ll want yu’ along with us in Sabbano as a witness. Yu’ can come back with Barney Gallagher on Shorty’s hawss. Yu’ can ride him, all right—he’s quiet.”
Fisk looked up brazenly at the new-comers as they entered, but Scotty remained with downcast eyes, in nervous trepidation as Ellis and his visitors, withdrawing into a corner, commenced to converse in low tones. Seeing the re-enforcements, Gallagher slipped away and departed to his ranch. When he returned, he found Pryce’s wagon and team standing outside the detachment, with old Hiram Bryan occupying the driver’s seat and Tucker alongside him.
Putting the stable-blankets and some hay in the bottom of the box, the Sergeant led forth the handcuffed and shackled Fisk and Robbins, and assisted them into the wagon. Shorty, for obvious reasons, he placed on the former’s own horse, which was led by Gallagher. A wise precaution, considering the glances of deadly hatred which, from time to time, were exchanged between the former and Big George, each still firmly believing the other to have turned traitor. Ellis brought up the rear on the buckskin, with Shorty’s rifle in a carbine sling at the saddle-horn.
It was a long, monotonous trip, but nothing untoward happened. To avoid stopping anywhere for dinner, the Sergeant had previously put in the wagon a big pack of cooked food and a jar of water; so, halting mid-day, they ate a meal and then, resuming their journey, arrived in Sabbano about sundown. Tired and dusty, they eventually drew up at the detachment.
Sergeant Churchill surveyed the party with astonishment.
“Hello! Where you klatch-um?” he inquired jocosely.
“Klatch-um allee same Chellee Kleek,” responded Ellis. “Give us a hand, Churchill, an’ let’s get ’em inside. Cloakey an’ Wardle—them two J.P.’s of yours—are they both in town?”
“Billy Cloakey is,” answered the other. “But Old John Wardle went away to th’ coast a couple o’ days ago, for a holiday. Don’t know when he’ll be back. What’s up? Want ’em to hold a prelim’?”