Benjy tried to answer but apparently his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, for he could not make any intelligent sound.
“I saw him pull it out of his pocket!” announced another boy standing near.
“Turn your pockets inside out at once,” commanded the clerk, who, it can very easily be seen, was a small-minded man, only anxious just then to turn the attention of his employer from his own lack of due caution to some other cause of blame.
Mechanically, the crippled boy started to do as he was told, but nothing developed through the process. He disclosed a top, several marbles, a broken-bladed knife, some string, a few buttons and a five cent piece, but no more precious watches or jewelry of any kind seemed forthcoming, greatly to the disappointment of the hopeful clerk.
Just then Lige Corbley, who had been the first one to run for the police, strange to say, came hurrying back, followed by the Chief himself, while a couple more officers were seen hastily buckling on their belts as they ran toward the spot.
“Hello! what’s the matter with you, Benjy?” they heard Lige say, as he pushed his way through the gathering crowd, using his elbows without any regard for other people’s ribs.
The appearance of his older brother seemed to make a change in the stunned condition of the cripple. He immediately began to cry, which caused Lige to glare around like an aroused lion, evidently searching for the guilty culprit who had hurt the smaller lad while he was away.
“Who hit you, Benjy? Just point him out to me, won’t you?” he asked, as he threw a protecting hand across the shoulders of his brother. And at that moment even the presence of the big Chief would possibly not have prevented Lige from trying to visit summary vengeance on the wretch who could stoop to strike a cripple, had Benjy but raised a hand and pointed an accusing finger.
The clerk faced Lige just then. He still held the gold watch in his hand and was in a humor to accuse any one of being an accomplice who dared put in a good word for Benjy.
“Here’s what he had in his pocket, if you want to know,” he snarled, as he dangled the glittering object before Lige’s eyes. “That thief handed it to him as he made off, to keep for him. It’s an old trick, and might have been successful if I hadn’t happened to know all about it. Your brother, small as he is, must be an accomplice in this robbery. And who knows but what you’re in the game, too, Lige Corbley? Your reputation isn’t any too good in this town, let me tell you!”