dirt.

"Hyar in Elreno, ye'll take ther varmint ter jail, an' it's ten ter one
he'll break out afore twenty-four hours, arter which he'll thumb his
nasal protuberance at yer, an' go cayvortin' 'round after ther same old
style, seekin' whomsoever he kin sock a bullet inter. Then you'll hate
yerself, an' wish ye'd tooken my advice ter hang ther whelp, sheriff or
no sheriff. You hear me chirp!"

There were others who thought the same, and it was hinted that Hank
Kildare might not be able to take his prisoner to the jail, after all.

Burchel Jones, the private detective, was in the crowd, and he hustled
about, loudly proclaiming that he was the man who captured Black Harry.
Bill Buckhorn heard him, stopped him, looked him over searchingly.

"Look hyar!" cried the man from 'Rapahoe. "Is it a straight trail ye're
layin' fer us?"

"What do you mean by that?" asked the man with the foxy face, in a
puzzled way.

"Dern a tenderfoot thet can't understand plain United States!" snorted
Buckhorn. "Ther same is most disgustin', so says I! Ye've got ter talk
like a Sunday-school sharp, ur else ther onery critters don't hitch ter
yer meanin'. Wat I wants ter know, tenderfoot, is ef yer tells ther
truth w'en yer says yer roped Black Harry."

Jones stiffened up, assuming an air of injured dignity.

"The truth! Why, I can't tell anything but the truth! It's an insult to
hint that I tell anything but the truth!"

"W'at relation be you ter George?"

"George who?"

"Washington."

"Sir, this attempt at frivolity is unseemly! Why should it seem
remarkable for me to capture Black Harry?"

"Ef a galoot with his reputation let an onery tenderfoot like you rope
him, it brings him down in my estimation complete!"

"I took him by surprise. I clapped a loaded revolver to his head, and he
could do nothing but put up his hands."

"Wa'al, you might ram a loaded cannon up ag'in my head, an' then I'd
shoot yer six times afore you could pull ther trigger," boasted
Buckhorn. "Black Harry ain't got no license ter live arter this, an' I
thinks it's ther duty o' ther citizens o' this yere town ter git
tergether an' put him out o' his misery."

"That ith wight," drawled a voice that seemed to give the man from
'Rapahoe an electric shock. "The w'etch ith verwy dangerwous, and I
weally hope you will hang him wight away, don't yer know. It ith
dweadful to think that the cwecher might get away and stop a twain that
I wath on, and wob me of awl m