Average Jones by Samuel Hopkins Adams
page 99 of 345 (28%)
page 99 of 345 (28%)
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fingers to his open mouth, in which the tongue showed black and
swollen. They went down to him. An hour later, "Rickey" Hoff was sleeping the sleep of utter exhaustion in camp. Average Jones felt amply qualified to join him. But it was not in the Ad-Visor's character to quit an enterprise before it was wholly completed. So long as the two bandits were on their way to cash the young spendthrift's checks--Jones had heard from the victim a brief account of the extortion--success was not fully won. "We've got to get that money back," he said to Captain Funcke with conviction. The hunter made no reply in words. He merely leaned his shotgun against his thigh, reached around beneath his coat and produced a forty-five caliber revolver. This he held out toward Jones. "Good thing to have," conceded the other. "But--well, no; not in this case. They got the booty with a show of legality, since Hoff signed the copartnership agreement and turned over the checks. It was under duress and threats, it's true, but who's to prove that, they being two to one, and this being Mexico? No; they're within the law, and I've a notion that we can get the swag back by straight sale and barter. Provided, always, we can catch them in time." "They'll want to make pretty good time to the Tenaja Poquita," pointed out the captain. "They're shy on water." |
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