Flynn’s Weekly Detective Fiction. Vol. 25, No. 2, August 13, 1927

“Highbrows ’ud call this a perfect day, but to us it ’ud be dangerous, for it made you feel like gettin’ drunk or fallin’ in love.”

I

Captain Martin of the Pennsylvania State Constabulary parked his feet upon his desk and chewed off the end of a long, black cigar. It was a minute before he spoke.

“Runyan, that new sheriff in the county above here, just phoned before you came in, sergeant.” he said. “It seems the freight station at Greenwood was robbed last night — safe picked — and they find themselves something like eight hundred dollars short.

“I didn’t get all the details because that green sheriff was so excited that he rambled from one thing to another. I’ve never met him, but judging from his conversation, he must be a beaut!”

“Don’t know him, either, captain!” I cut in. “But I hear he’s a card — as thick as they make ’em!”

“Anyhow, I managed to understand what he wanted,” the captain went on after he had lighted up his cigar. “He thinks the fellow that pulled the job is hooked up with a gang of gypsies, now camping at Cold Springs.”

“Why don’t he go and nail him then, instead of spieling to you?” I blabbed out.

The captain blew a big puff of smoke up in the air and kind of smiled. “A little technicality of the law seems to be troubling him, sergeant! You see. Cold Springs is not in his county — it’s out of his jurisdiction. And he can’t get hold of the other sheriff — he and his deputy are taking a prisoner to the penitentiary to-day. So he wants a member of the constabulary on hand to make things look right — to take the responsibility for the arrest in case he finds his man.

“He’s such a sticker for legal points that he asked me to be sure to have a man on the ground before he arrived, so that he can say he was merely helping the constabulary — not the constabulary helping him. I guess I’ll give you the job!”

“A swell chance he’ll have of getting his bird, once I hit the camp in the uniform!” I sputtered. “Them gypsies is damn cute — and don’t you forget it!”

The captain gave me one of his chuckling laughs. “Of course, you can’t go in the uniform, but in plain clothes — who could be better? Just talk and act natural, and they’ll never get wise you’re a State cop. There’s no one in the company who could carry out the part of the rube sucker as well as you!”

That kind of tickled me, ’cause I always felt I had the makings of a star actor, only I never had the chance to show my stuff.

“I’ll have the stage all set for that rattle-brained sheriff — just leave it to me!” I spouted. “All I want is a little time — then if his man’s in the camp, I’ll hand him over to him when he comes. As I was saying, them gypsies is cute, but I’ll show ’em there’s a man floating around here that’s a dam’ sight cuter!”

“It can’t be that you’re speaking of yourself!” the captain drawled.

Of course, the captain didn’t mean it — it was only his way of edging a fellow on.

“I’ll dig up some other clothes,” I said, paying no attention to his little joke, “and I’ll report before I pull out.”

“Do!” The captain picked up the morning paper. “I’ll phone the sheriff when you start.”

I pulled off a salute, walked out of his office, and hustles to the bunk rooms in the other end of the barracks. On the way, I happened to think that the coat to the only store suit what I owned was in a tailor shop, getting fixed. I’d got it torn in a mix-up at the Mine Workers’ ball, the week before.

But that didn’t worry me, ’cause I knew I’d be able to pick one up in the bunk room — some fellow always left his sparking clothes hanging on the wall.

When I got to our snoring quarters, I saw I was right. Red Calahan had left his new, checkerboard suit on a hanger, back of his bunk. And me and Red was always pretty good friends. As long as I’ve got to borrow the coat, I thought, why not take the whole suit? I figured my black trousers and vest wouldn’t go so well with that ice cream coat.

I knew I’d be able to get into it somehow, even if I was almost five foot eleven, ’cause Red was only a couple of inches less. Of course, I expected it’d be a little tight and short, but what of that! I wasn’t going to make a call on some swell chicken — I was going out on business — the business of the law.

So I grabbed Red’s glad rags and went to my own bunk. Sinking down on the springs, I threw off my big cowboy hat and peeled off my leather leggings. Then I stripped off the tight-fitting, dark gray jacket and my nifty, peg-topped, riding trousers. It wasn’t long then — just a little longer than it took me to change my flannel shirt for a white hard-boiler with a high, stand-up collar, and fix my new, bright red tie — before I was all set, in Red’s suit.

It fitted kind of snug and the bottoms of the pants didn’t quite come to the tops of my shoes, but I figured if I took it easy, I wouldn’t bust it. The thing that worried me the most was those blamed short sleeves. They didn’t cover a bit of my cuffs, and I didn’t want those cuffs to get dirty, ’cause they was the only pair I had.

Then I was a little bit bothered about a hat. I knew without digging it out of my trunk, my black derby wouldn’t look so good with that splashy suit. But I remembered all of a sudden that Bud Rosser had showed me a new straw hat that he’d bought yesterday. He wouldn’t want it before evening — I’d see if I couldn’t find it!

I found it all right, only it fit a little tight — stayed up on top of my head, making my ears look kind of low. But it stuck on when I shook my head, so I decided to wear it. Then I was all fixed to go on the job, excepting for my gun and badge.

But when I tried to get my big Colt into the hip pocket of those bologna skin pants, it couldn’t be done. And the coat was too short to wear a holster. Any one would have seen the gun a mile away. I had a pocket automatic in my trunk, and I made up my mind to take that. Even if some one saw it, they wouldn’t get wise — the constabulary didn’t carry that kind of a shooting iron.

I see you’re dying to know how I got it, then. Well, mum’s the word, but we troopers don’t always turn in everything we get hold of. Of course, we always turn over to the captain anything we haven’t got any use for — such as raw green moonshine, liquor made from wood alcohol, wornout bootleggers’ trucks, counterfeit money, and the likes of that, or anything that really amounts anything.

But when it comes to a single quart of good old rye, a lone case of real, honest-to-goodness beer, or an extra nice piece of small artillery, we sometimes get a trifle forgetful. If we didn’t, they would only pass down the line until they landed in some county official’s stomach or pocket, and what’s the use of that! Enough said — that automatic was a dandy!

After I had packed the automatic in the hip pocket of Red’s sporty pants, I picked up the jacket of my uniform and started to take off the badge. But then it struck me that it would be pretty dumb to have a State cop’s badge anywhere on me, knowing how nifty them gypsies were at picking pockets, and remembering how I’d have to let them fuss around me when I kidded them into thinking I was a rube what had come to have his fortune told.

And I wouldn’t need it nohow — not when I was dealing with this bunch. So I left the badge on my jacket and takes my roll of money from my breeches.

It looked like a good, respectable roll, but to tell the truth, it wasn’t as respectable as it looked. I had a nice new ten-spot wrapped around the outside of thirty ones — making just forty dollars all told. But it looked like four hundred when I flashed it around, and what’s life anyway but a game of bluff? After I’d counted it over to see that none was missing, I stuck the roll into Red’s jeans and starts for the captain’s office.

When I clicked my heels together and threw a salute, the captain laughed so hard that he almost toppled over in his whirligig chair. I knew what was making him laugh without asking. I’d peeped into the little mirror by my bunk after I’d got dolled up. And I saw that the color of Red’s suit didn’t go ’tall good with my complexion.

I got one of those regular he-man faces, all tanned and roughened and big. While the colors in Red’s suit was meant for some pale, sleek little fellow what fits ladies shoes or jerks a soda fountain. Then my flat nose looked awful masculine, too, spread out underneath Bud Rosser’s new straw sailor hat. It’s a shame I ever had to get that smash, but the crook that done it is doing twenty years. He didn’t get away even if he did flatten out my nose.

After the captain got through laughing, he reached for the phone. “Never seen anything better, sergeant!” he said. “You can’t be beat! The smartest man down at headquarters would never pick you for a State cop! Start for Cold Springs at once — I’ll phone the sheriff you’re on your way!”

Those kind words of the captain sort of made up for his laugh. Outside of the compliments, it made a fellow feel good to know that after nine years in the service, he didn’t carry the marks of a human bloodhound when he was dressed up. For there’s some people that’s not specially friendly to State cops, and when a man tries to get a little pleasure mixing with strangers at a clam bake or dance, he don’t like to get snubbed.

“Tell the sheriff I’ll be with those gypsies in less than an hour, and I’ll try to have his man spotted before he gets there if he takes his time,” I spoke up.

“I ain’t been over Cold Springs way for almost three years, but they tell me the new road’s pretty good. I guess it ’ll be all right to take that old Dodge — not so classy-looking, but it won’t take so long as my horse.”

“Sure, sergeant!” the captain sang out. “Help yourself — and good luck!”

And his smile reached from ear to ear, showing me he meant it. He’s a fine fellow, the captain!

Another salute, and I was on my way.

II

It was one of those bright, tickling, May mornings when I rattled along the road to Cold Springs. As I got out of the hard coal country, into the farming lands on the other side of the mountain, I could sniff the smells of spring.

The whiffs of blossoms was fine, but the whiffs of fertilizer wasn’t so good. Taken altogether, though — with the fresh green trees, the chirping of the birds, the croaking of the frogs, and the itching of that tickling, warm air — it was what the highbrows call a perfect day. But fellows like ourselves would call it a dangerous day. It made you feel like going fishing, or getting drunk, or falling in love.

When I came to the top of the hill that dropped down to the Cold Springs, I happened to think I’d forgotten to bring a pair of handcuffs. But maybe it was just as well, I told myself, ’cause them gypsies were great fanners, and if their fingers happened to touch a pair of nippers, they’d get wise in a jiffy. Anyhow, the sheriff calculated to make the actual pinch — he and his men would have plenty of bracelets!

As I got toward the bottom of the hill, I spied the heathens’ tents scattered around in a grove of pines, standing on a bluff a couple of hundred yards back of the springs. Three big covered wagons with a pair of nags tied to each of them, stood on a patch of level ground, right off the road. About the tents I could see gypsy kids playing, gypsy women working, and gypsy men loafing around with big, long pipes in their mouths. About a dozen all told, not counting the kids, I figured.

Knowing I’d have to be pretty cute, I made a bluff at stopping at the springs for a drink. While I guzzled a little water, I saw the gypsies watching me with all eyes. Seeming not to pay any attention to ’em at all, I started back to my car and jumped into the seat. Then I shoves my foot down on the starter — only I didn’t throw the switch in. Of course the motor wouldn’t go, and I jumped out and lifted up the hood, pretending to be all puzzled like.

Pretty soon I hears some one walking up to me, and I turns around.

There, giving me the glad smile, stood the prettiest gypsy girl what I ever seen.

She had the whitest teeth, the darkest eyes, and the blackest hair of any woman I ever took a squint at. And her complexion; say, it was real — just the color of creamed coffee and without a wart or a mole.

She was all dolled up in a white, blousey, cutaway waist over which she wore a kind of a black velvet vest. The vest didn’t come together in the front by at least six inches, and the bottom of it didn’t quite reach her wide red sash. The tails of the sash trailed down on one side below the end of her black skirt. But you mustn’t get it into your head that those tails were so terribly long, ’cause her skirt didn’t quite come to her knees.

“You stuck?” she asked, still smiling. “How far you got to go?”

“Stuck for keeps!” I growled, trying to look kind of worried like. “My farm is way up in the next valley. It’s nearly twenty miles from here. I’ll have to wait around until I can catch a ride to the nearest garage.”

I could see before she opened up her yap she’d fallen for my clever acting. She stood eying me, just like a kid eyes a plate of ice cream he expects to get.

“Too bad!” she heaved — she seemed to pull it out from way down near her sash. “Too bad machine broke! But never mind, Rita tell your fortune while you wait. Come over to tent!”

“Don’t know as I want my fortune told,” I stalled, to fool her all the more. “I’d never like to know just what’s going to happen — life would get too damn tame.”

“Then Rita show you how to make lots of money — how’s that?”

“Not so bad!” I grunted. “In that case I’ll go over to your tent.”

Rita’s smile would knock you cold.

I let her start and I followed.

Up the footpath we went, going past the bubbling springs and then between a bunch of big rocks higher than your head. The way that girl walked it didn’t seem more than two minutes before we was in the middle of the gypsy camp.

As I gaped around, just like a rube would, taking in all the gypsies about, I saw a tall, dark, skinny heathen, standing as straight and stiff as a poker with his arms folded over his chest. He was parked near the flap of the biggest tent. Rita must have caught my rubbering look, for she stopped short and grabbed my hand.

“My father — the chief!” she sort of whispered, her eyes shimmying up into my face.

“Fine man!” I said out loud, and then finished to myself. “To hit over the head with a blackjack.”

I took another squint as we started to move along. Back of the Old Boy, peeping through the flap of the tent, I spied another face. And he wasn’t no gypsy, either! His hair was brown like mine, and his eyes were gray — that cold kind of gray that seems to look clear through your skull.

I’d run across fellows like him before. They were always good-for-nothing trash, what didn’t have the guts to be a real crook. They’d pull off some little picayune job and then hide among a bunch of negroes, gypsies or Chinese, shivering for their lives.

“That’s the sheriff’s man, sure as you’re born!” I thought, quick taking my glimmers from the tent so they wouldn’t get suspicious. “But since I’ve got him fooled, I’ll give him plenty of rope.”

You see, I wanted to draw out of Rita all I could about that fellow before she found out I was a State cop. It was my game to get all the dope to be got before the sheriff breezed in. And besides, I told you it was Spring.

It was only another minute before we were in Rita’s tent. As the chief’s daughter, she had one all to herself. Hers was the farthest from the road and the smallest in the camp. I took care to flop down where I could watch the chief’s canvas through the opening. If that gray-eyed geaser made a move to get away, I’d nail him quick!

I just got fixed nice when Rita dropped down on the ground beside me, and taking Bud’s straw hat off of my head, she began running her fingers through my hair.

“If you got any money with you, Rita show you how to make it double,” she mooned in my ear, at the same time catching ahold of one of my paws with her other hand. “Such a handsome man I never seen!”

Of course I had to kid her along. When we made the pinch, I’d get the money back. I could afford to be real generous for a few minutes. And somehow I kind of liked the feel of her hands. It was Spring.

“I haven’t got so much — only about forty bucks,” I said, pulling out my roll — the ten spot wrapped around the thirty ones. “But even that would be nice to have doubled. How’s it to be done?”

“Rita takes the money and put it in your inside coat pocket over heart. Then Rita get thread and needle and sew up pocket so that money can no get out. Then Rita say some magic words and rub heart with hand. In one week — not before — mister is to cut threads open and he will find the money doubled.

“It is a great gift which Rita has. It was given her by her grandmother — the great queen of the Shada tribe.”

I chuckled to myself. I’d heard of that game before. When the gypsies got hold of a fellow that was sucker enough to fall for it, they’d palm off a roll of blank paper for the roll of good money and sew it up in his pocket tight. Then how the poor boob would rave at the end of the week when he ripped open the pocket! Long before that time the gypsies had made their getaway.

But I was always curious to see just how they worked it. And I had to kill the time somehow until the sheriff got on the job. Besides, I didn’t have any great objections to Rita fussing around me and rubbing my heart — not as long as I was going to get the roll back later. It was Spring.

“Go to it!” I said. “But don’t you think a couple of kisses would help along the magic?”

She laughed like only one of them gypsy girls can laugh, and bobbed up on her knees. Then she plastered a smack on each cheek. I can almost feel them yet! They were the burny kind — the kind that sticks there for weeks.

“Rita, get the thread and needle,” she cooed, taking her arms from around my neck. “Take good care of money until Rita comes back!”

“I’ll do that!” I promised. But she was already outside, running to her old man’s tent.

I knew what she was after, along with the thread and needle — the wad of blank paper. And I had a good laugh to myself.

III

While I was laughing, I heard a motor car pull up in front of the springs. Getting up on my feet and sticking my head out of the tent, I saw three men with Winchesters climbing out of the machine. I knew it must be the sheriff and his posse, and I shot my eyes toward the chief’s canvas, watching for that gray-eyed gink.

In a couple of seconds he comes running out and looks down toward the springs, then toward the back. He was somewheres around my age, tall and well set up, and had on a dark blue suit. He’d stopped short when he caught sight of the sheriff, and I was up on my toes, ready to nab him if he started for the woods.

When he didn’t move, I wonders why until I saw four more men with rifles coming different ways through the trees in the back. That sheriff didn’t mean to lose his bird! He had the back and sides of the camp covered before he pulled in.

I could see that my gray-eyed friend knew the jig was up. His smooth, long face twitched and squirmed. He shifted his weight from one foot to another, and stood rubbing his hands, all nervous like. If you ever seen a scared crook, he was it!

About that time Rita comes running out of the big tent, plainly not knowing anything about the sheriff and his men, when the gray-eyed fellow in the blue suit grabs her by the arm and rushes her back into her dad’s canvas.

It wasn’t more than a few seconds before she comes shooting out again and runs like a white-head toward me, while the gray-eyed fellow steps out and watches her every stride.

I was mighty curious to see just what she was going to do, seeing how the sheriff and his men were drawing close to the tents.

“Quick, mister!” she pants, dashing into the tent and holding out her hand. “The police — they come! Hurry with money before it is too late! Rita, sew quick.”

That kind of knocked me off my feet — or it would, only I was sitting down again, seeing that Mr. Gray Eyes couldn’t get away. I had to hand it to that girl’s nerve!

Even with a young army coming in on her, she didn’t mean to lose those forty bucks. And I’d take it away from her in less than five minutes. I couldn’t disappoint her — it was rich!

“Sew away!” I said, handing her the roll. “And don’t forget the rubbing part!”

She grabbed the money with her right hand and then swaps it with her left for the thread and needle. Throwing back Red’s coat, she drops a roll of something into the inside pocket and begins sewing for dear life. I never seen any woman’s fingers fly so fast.

Taking a squint out, I saw the man what I took to be the sheriff stepping up to the chief. I always thought I’d like to see just how one of those rube sheriffs made a pinch, and here was my chance. I’d lay quiet for a minute or so longer and see just what he’d do.

You see, Rita had just snapped off the needle and was starting on a lot of queer lingo. She hadn’t got to the rubbing part yet. And it was Spring!

The lingo didn’t last so long, but the rubbing would have lasted longer if I hadn’t seen that gray-eyed skirt hanger starting to walk toward the sheriff.

I had to have a little credit in the pinch, seeing how I’d spotted the bird and worked out of Rita, between rubbings, that he’d only been in the camp for three days.

“Just a minute, Rita, darling!” I said, sweet like, loosening her arms and getting to my feet. “I’ve got to leave you for a few seconds. I’ll be back later!”

Rita gave me the grandest smile. “Don’t forget! Come back as soon as the police go! Rita will be waiting with kisses. And the magic — it is not yet finished!”

“Don’t worry that I’ll forget!” I blarneyed, thinking of my forty bucks — also a few more of those kisses. “I’ll be right back just as soon as this row’s over!”

As I came running toward the sheriff, I saw that gray-eyed beezer touch his arm.

“There he is — your man!” I heard him say, pointing his finger right at me. “He’s the fellow that robbed the freight station!”

I’d never given fellows like him the credit of even as much guts as that, and it made me boiling mad.

“You damn low-down skunk!” I shouted, leaping across the ground and grabbing him by the throat. “I’ll choke your black tongue out of your head!”

But before I got him down on his knees, that whole rube army of the sheriff’s was on top of me. When they piled off, I was wearing a pair of bracelets.

By that time, I was so mad that I was sizzling. They stood around me, the sheriff with his gray Buffalo Bill whiskers reaching almost to his pot belly, and the rest of his hayseed outfit grinning like fools.

“You damn dumb-bells!” I screamed. “Don’t you know I’m the State cop from over at the Coalville barracks?”

I saw the gray-eyed gink’s face kind of twitch, just like things weren’t going to suit him. He started to fidget around on his feet.

“No matter who he says he is,” he sort of mumbled, “why don’t you search him?”

“Not a bad idea ’tall!” the sheriff spouted. “Here, Silas, give me a hand!”

IV

While I lay there on the ground, handcuffed and raving, the sheriff and his man Silas went through me from head to foot. It didn’t take them long to yank out my automatic. And then their fingers struck the roll sewed up inside of my coat.

When the sheriff called for a knife to cut open the stitches, I got all over my grouch and started to laugh to myself. I could picture just how foolish he’d look when he pulled out that wad of blank paper. I kidded him about taking care not to cut the bills when he started out with the knife. He got kind of mad, and told me to shut up.

Then he gets the pocket cut open and sticks in his hand. I sets myself to give him a big roar.

When his fist came out, all doubled up tight, I let her go. I bet you could hear that laugh for a mile.

But when his fingers opened up, that laugh stopped quick! It turned into a gag — then into a choke. Nestled right there in the sheriff’s horny hand was a big roll — and it wasn’t a phony roll, either! I could catch a big fifty on the bill wrapped on the outside.

In a second the sheriff had slipped off the rubber band and began counting the bunch of real money.

“Eight hundred and ten dollars!” he at last sang out, his voice trilling like a guy’s what’s praising himself. “The exact amount to a penny that was stolen from the Greenwood freight house.”

The sheriff wheels around to that gray-eyed gazabo and sticks out his hand. “Mighty glad for your help. The captain promised to send over a good man. And he did. I knew you were the right State cop for the job the minute I laid my eyes on you.”

“Don’t mention it, sheriff,” the fellow muttered, letting go of the sheriff’s hand quick. “I’m only too glad to help. Since you got your man, I’ll be moving along — lots of things to do yet, to-day, you know.”

“Sorry you can’t stick around a little while,” the sheriff breezed. “I was figuring to scare up a little drink.”

“Don’t be a plump lunkhead altogether, sheriff,” I screams out. “He’s no more of a State cop than he’s a gypsy. I’m the State cop from the Coalville barracks. He’s the crook!”

The sheriff and his men just laughed till they shook.

“That’s the best I ever heard,” the sheriff bursts out. “Can you imagine anything like that a State copper! I do believe the fellows off his head along with being a crook!”

“Since when do the State police carry these new fangled shooting irons?” one of the sheriff’s men joshed, holding out my automatic.

“And if you’re a State trooper, let’s see your badge, captain,” kidded another.

“Never mind about the shooting iron and the badge,” I shouts back. “But I tell you I’m the State trooper — and a sergeant at that.”

“I’m Napoleon, only I don’t have on my cocked hat,” the sheriff laughs. “But since you had the dough, you can tell the judge you’re Cal Coolidge for all of me.”

By that time I was so fighting mad that I was chewing up my own tongue. “Go to hell, all of you!” I roars out. “You’re the dumbest bunch of animals I ever seen!”

The sheriff reaches out with his hobnailed foot and gives me a stiff boot. “Shut up!” he hollered at the top of his voice. “If you don’t keep quiet, I’ll smash you over the head!”

“Guess you can handle him all right, sheriff,” the gray-eyed shyster speaks up, edging away from the crowd. “I’ll be on my way.”

“Leave the nutty crook to us — we’ll fix him if he don’t keep his trap tight shut!” the sheriff flings back. “Much obliged for the lift and, remember, if anything’s said, you made the pinch and turned this fellow over to me on the other side of the county line.”

“Sure, sheriff. Good day.”

The next minute I seen Mr. Gray Eyes pulling out a motor cycle from somewheres behind the trees and go trudging down the path.

As I sat there on the ground, mussing and dirtying Red’s good suit, I couldn’t help admiring that fellow’s slickness even if he didn’t have no guts. I began to see just how smart he’d doped things out.

He knew in a second, when he first caught sight of the sheriff and his men, that some one had given them the right tip, and that they were sure to make some kind of a pinch. Just at that time, eight hundred and ten dollars didn’t look so big — not near as big as those walls around the pen.

It was easy enough to get rid of the money, but it wasn’t so easy to get rid of the sheriff. He’d have to have a prisoner of some kind before he’d be satisfied.

It was more than likely when Rita first went into the big tent, before any of them got wise to the sheriff’s party coming, that she’d told them all about the rube sucker she had in tow, and how she hoped to make forty bucks quick.

So when Mr. Gray Eyes hears a car stop and steps out to see the sheriff coming, he loses his nerve, but not his head. If the sheriff had to have a prisoner, he’d get one — not him, but that rube sucker over in Rita’s “budwoir!”

He just about got it all figured out when Rita comes running from the big tent. So he grabs her and rushes her back in. Then he tells her what he’s up against, and slips her the wad he stole from the freight station, asking her to sew it into the sucker’s coat instead of the phony bundle which she had got ready.

But even to this day I could never believe that Rita saw through all his game. ’Cause I’m sure she was awful sweet on me, cutting out all about the forty bucks. No girl could have smacked her lips on my cheeks the way she did unless she had been hit — and hit hard. And it wasn’t much to be wondered at if you stop to think of it — she, a girl of the great outdoors, and me, a regular he-man — and Spring!

The only way I could ever figure it out was that Mr. Gray Eyes had never told her anything about his intending to palm me off as the crook. She thought he only wanted to hide the money in a safe place until the sheriff left.

Then what did those bunch of rubes do, just about the time I’d got things all straightened up in my mind, but come and pick me off the ground and march me into their car. Stepping down on the gas, they had me in Greenwood in a little over an hour and locked me up in the jail.

I guess I’d be in the hoosegow yet if I hadn’t managed to coax the keeper into phoning to the captain. He came rushing over in his Hudson Super and got me out.

Did I get my forty bucks back? Not so’s you could notice it! Me and the captain stopped at Cold Springs on the way back, but them gypsies had flew the coop.

And Mr. Gray Eyes? They’re looking for him yet!