"What's the matter now?" the manager asked, after one look at the
newcomer's face. "Is the river up again?"
"River be blowed--it's the niggers. Stepped out of the cane-grass not
a dozen feet away, and whopped at me. It was a Snider, and he shot
from the hip. Now what I want to know is where'd he get the Snider?
Oh, I beg your pardon. Glad to know you, Mr. Arkwright."
"Mr. Brown is my assistant," explained Mr. Harriwell. "And now let's
have that drink."
"But where'd he get that Snider?" Mr. Brown insisted. "I always
objected to keeping those guns on the premises?"
"They're still there," Mr. Harriwell said, with a show of heat.
Mr. Brown smiled incredulously.
"Come along and see," said the manager.
Bertie joined the procession into the office, where Mr. Harriwell
pointed triumphantly at a big packing-case in a dusty corner.
"Well, then, where did the beggar get that Snider?" harped Mr. Brown.
But just then McTavish lifted the packing-case. The manager started
then tore off the lid. The case was empty. They gazed at one another
in horrified silence. Harriwell dropped wearily.
Then McVeigh cursed.
"What I contended all along--the house-boys are not to be trusted.
Pages:
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457