“There is nothing in it; but what were your measurements?”
“Eleven inches by four and a half; nails on the soles; one nail missing on the right foot and two on the left.” Then, turning to my father quickly, he said, “My man, allow me to have a look at your boots.”
“Nonsense, Panky, nonsense!”
Now my father by this time was wondering whether he should not set upon these two men, kill them if he could, and make the best of his way back, but he had still a card to play.
“Certainly, sir,” said he, “but I should tell you that they are not my boots.”
He took off his right boot and handed it to Panky.
“Exactly so! Eleven inches by four and a half, and one nail missing. And now, Mr. Ranger, will you be good enough to explain how you became possessed of that boot. You need not show me the other.” And he spoke like an examiner who was confident that he could floor his examinee in vivâ voce.
“You know our orders,” answered my father, “you have seen them on your permit. I met one of those foreign devils from the other side, of whom we have had more than one lately; he came from out of the clouds that hang higher up, and as he had no permit and could not speak a word of our language, I gripped him, flung him, and strangled him. Thus far I was only obeying orders, but seeing how much better his boots were than mine, and finding that they would fit me, I resolved to keep them. You may be sure I should not have done so if I had known there was snow on the top of the pass.”
“He could not invent that,” said Hanky; “it is plain he has not been up to the statues.”
Panky was staggered. “And of course,” said he ironically, “you took nothing from this poor wretch except his boots.”