"Do you know him by sight, then?"
"We all do."
"When was Tag here last?" pressed the officer.
"About three days ago," Dick answered. "He stole quite a bit
of our food supply."
"That's an old trick of that young tough," rejoined the deputy
sheriff. "That's how the boy got the nickname of 'tag.' He won't
work, and lives on other people's work. Anything that he can
say 'tag' to he thinks belongs to him."
"Then, in other words, sir," asked Dave Darrin, "Tag Mosher is
just a plain thief?"
"A good deal that way," replied the deputy. "But with this difference:
Up to date Tag never stole anything except what he needed at the
moment for his own comfort. He never robbed people to enrich
himself, but just to save himself the trouble of working. Now,
however, we've a more serious charge against him."
"What?" asked Dick,
"I don't know whether the courts will call it felonious assault,"
replied the deputy. "But Tag stole two chickens out of the chicken
coop of Henry Leigh, a new farmer in these parts. Leigh trailed
Tag to the woods and found him cooking the chickens. Leigh tried
to grab Tag, but Tag caught up a big stone and just slammed it
against Leigh's head. Leigh is now in bed at home, with a fractured
skull, and likely to die.
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