"And you can hardly walk?"
"I can walk only with effort and considerable pain," said Dick.
Tag Mosher whistled softly.
"My luck is leaving me," declared Mosher ruefully. "Prescott,
when I saw you and looked you over I didn't see that you are a
cripple. I thought you were in as good shape as ever. As for
me, I can't do much to-night, I'm so weak. I thought that, if
I tried to fight, you'd handle me easily enough. If I ran, I
knew I couldn't run far, and you'd jump on my back and bear me
to the ground. So I thought it easier to let you have your own
way with me. Whee! I didn't do a thing but surrender to a cripple
that ought to be on crutches! My luck is gone!"
This last was said with an air of great dejection, as though Tag
never looked to have any further pleasure in life. Presently
he muttered, half aloud:
"And now they say that I've committed a murder! They'll prove
it on me, too. Tag Mosher, you're done for."
"Anyway, you're in a rather bad fix, young man," confirmed Deputy
Valden. "Even with the best luck you'll be locked up for some
years to come."
"That will kill me!" muttered Tag sullenly. "I can't live anywhere
outside of the big forest. In jail---why, I'd die of lack of
fresh air! My father, old Bill Mosher, can get along in jail
all right---he's used to it.
Pages:
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140