"
"Humph! I like that!" jeered the deputy. "This boy is my prisoner,
and I'll take him when I please. See here, Tag, I don't want
you faking any injuries as a slick way to-----"
"You get outside, my man!" broke in Detective Colquitt quietly,
but he took hold of the deputy so forcibly that Valden was quickly
on the outside of the tent.
"Now, you come along with me, my man," Colquitt continued, "and
I'll tell you who's who. First of all, this boy is Mr. Page's
son. Mr. Page can produce all kinds of money merely by signing
a check. He is indignant with you, already, for maltreating his
son when you had him under arrest at another time. Mr. Page may
employ lawyers and bring proceedings to have you ousted from
your job by the sheriff. You-----"
Here their voices died out in the distance, but Valden went along
willingly enough. When the pair returned the deputy seemed to
have lost his swagger.
"Doc, you've been good to me," said Tag at last, "and now I'll
tell you how I came to hurt my ankle. You know, of course, that
I visited one of your shacks and helped myself to some of your
kitchen stuff. While I was there I came across a queer little
black bag. I opened it, and found a whole lot of queer little
bottles.
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