“Ye’ll hev lots o’ time to tell us all that when we’re askin’ ye,” answered Blackstock. “Now, take my advice an’ keep yer mouth shet.”
As Blackstock was speaking, Jim slipped in alongside the prisoner and rubbed against him with a friendly wag of the tail as if to say:
“Sorry to see you in such a hole, old chap.”
Some of the men laughed, and one who was more or less a friend of Hawker’s, remarked sarcastically:
“Jim don’t seem quite so discriminatin’ as usual, Tug.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” replied the Deputy drily, noting the dog’s attitude with evident interest. “Time will show. Ye must remember a man ain’t necessarily a murderer jest because he wears black side-lights an’ tries to sell ye a book that ain’t no good.”
“No good!” burst out the prisoner, reddening with indignation. “You show me another book that’s half as good, at double the price, an’ I’ll give you—”
“Shet up, you!” ordered the Deputy, with a curious look. “This ain’t no picnic ye’re on, remember.”
Then some one, as if for the first time, thought of the money for which Sanderson had been murdered.
“Why don’t ye search him, Tug?” he demanded. “Let’s hev a look in that there black knapsack.”