"You're not
making any mistake, either?"
"We know Tag Mosher when we see him," Darry retorted. "We've
good enough reason for knowing him."
With his uninjured left hand Deputy Valden reached for his pair
of handcuffs, passing them to Dave.
"Here you are, Darrin," said the officer. "You know how to put
these things on, don't you?"
"I can figure the job out, sir," Dave made reply.
Tag submitted, wearily, to having the steel bracelets snapped
over his wrists. Then he heaved a sigh that had something of
a sob in it.
"I let you put these on, but I wish you'd take them off again,"
he said, addressing Valden. "I know I'm bad, and I know I'm tough,
but I never had these things on my hands before. Take 'em off,
won't you? Please!"
Such submission was tame, indeed. Deputy Valden, who had never
seen young Mosher before glanced sharply at young Prescott.
"This fellow doesn't seem much like the hardened criminal I've
been told about," remarked the officer.
"Did Prescott tell you I was tough?" demanded the prisoner. "He
ought to know! He had a touch of my style when I was feeling
better than I feel to-night. I suppose I've been nabbed for helping
myself to a sandwich or two from their camp."
"Do you demand to know why you're under arrest?" inquired Deputy
Valden.
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