"Marshal," I heard him calling, "the wire to Bisley has been cut."
"Is that so?"
"The City Marshal at Bisley wants your help."
"What's the trouble?"
"You Ryan, your partner Jim Fiskin has been held up on the Mule Pass by robbers. Marshal, the message is for you to bring a posse swift to the nigh end of the pass, so as the Bisley people can drive the robbers under your guns."
"Good," says the Marshal, belting up his gun, "I'll be thar."
"It would be an awful pity," says Curly behind my shoulder, "if our City Marshal and his posse of men got called away on a false scent, while the wicked robbers up north were stealing a millionaire."
That youngster was wiser than me.