't see how you can hold him."

"Possession is nine points of the law in this country, Mr. Benson, and,
while I only went to Albany for extradition papers, they're good. Left
'em inside with the Judge."

"I'll contest this case. I've come down from Manitoba for this man. My
chief put the New York police onto him, and he's our meat. Why, man, we
want him for murder, a capital offense!"

"But I've got him for robbing the Wickenburg stage, a capital offense,
too."

While this confab was going on the prisoner had been keenly and
furtively looking about, and had caught the eye of a nearby policeman,
then had significantly reached his hand behind him and patted his hip
pocket while nodding almost imperceptibly toward the disputants. The
officer summoned another policeman by the same sign language, and at
this juncture they approached.

"What you two chewin' the rag about?" demanded one, passing his hands
rapidly up and down and around the rear clothing of Quincy, while the
other as quickly "frisked" Benson. "Got a gun, I see! Got a license?"

"Here's another gun man," said the second policeman, his hand on
Benson's collar. "Got a license?"

"Yes, where's yer license?" repeated the first officer, reaching for
Quincy's collar.

And now a surprising thing happened. First, Bill Rogers, wanted for
stage robbery and murder, took to his heels and sped down the street.
Then Benson wriggled under the policeman's grasp, and by some
lightning-like trick of jiu jitsu, sent him sprawling on his back, his
limbs waving in the air like the legs of a turtle similarly upset. Then
Benson started after Rogers. Quincy tried no jiu jitsu: instead he
whipped out his gun, a long, heavy Colt's forty-five, and jammed it
into the policeman's face before the hand had reached his collar.
Involuntarily the officer started back, away from that murderous blue
tube, and before he could recover from his surprise Quincy had started
after Benson. Then the policeman followed Quincy, and his fallen
compatriot, picking himself up, followed after; but neither for long;
they were fat, and these men of the West could run as well as ride.

Down Centre Street went the chase, pursued and pursuers bowling over
pedestrians who got in the way, dodging in front of and around trolley
cars as Rogers led the way diagonally across the street. He turned into
the first cross street and reached Park Row, Benson about a hundred
feet behind, and Quincy as far in the rear o