It was dusk when Mr. Shorter returned from Holliday, but
after he had heard his wife's story he said that he'd drive
"them two byes" all the way to Mexico, if there wasn't any
better plan.
"Dodson's far enough," Bridge assured him, and late that
night the grateful farmer set them down at their destination.
An hour later they were speeding south on the Missouri
Pacific.
Bridge lay back, luxuriously, on the red plush of the smoker seat.
"Some class to us, eh, bo?" asked Billy.
Bridge stretched.
The tide-hounds race far up the shore--the hunt is on! The breakers roar!
Her spars are tipped with gold, and o'er her deck the spray is flung,
The buoys that frolic in the bay, they nod the way, they nod the way!
The hunt is up! I am the prey! The hunter's bow is strung!
CHAPTER VI
"BABY BANDITS"
IT WAS twenty-four hours before Detective Sergeant Flannagan
awoke to the fact that something had been put over on
him, and that a Kansas farmer's wife had done the putting.
He managed to piece it out finally from the narratives of
the two tramps, and when he had returned to the Shorter
home and listened to the contradictory and whole-souled
improvisations of Shorter pere and mere he was convinced.
Pages:
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344