FullReads

Down Centre Street went the chase, pursued and pursuers bowling over pedestrians who got in the way, dodging in front of and around trolley cars as Rogers led the way diagonally across the street. He turned into the first cross street and reached Park Row, Benson about a hundred feet behind, and Quincy as far in the rear of Benson. Across Park Row went Rogers, and down the eastern walk to Catharine Street, into which he turned, Benson after him, and Quincy keeping Benson in sight. Rogers seemed to know where he was going. He raced down Catharine Street into Cherry, and when halfway to the next corner burst into a small saloon, whose proprietor, a large, beetle-browed man, stood behind the bar.

“Sailors’ boarding-house, isn’t it?” panted Rogers. “Hide me and ship me! I’ve been to sea. North America’s too hot for me.”

“Yes,” responded the proprietor, with quick comprehension. “Into that back room and up the stairs. Hide anywhere. I’ll stall the police.”

But before Rogers could reach the back room Benson burst in, his blue eyes flashing with excitement, and in his hand a revolver as large and heavy as Quincy’s.

“Hold on, Bill!” he snapped. “Hands up! I’ve got a bead on you!”

Rogers halted and turned, his hands over his head and his features drooping in despair. Benson, still covering him, advanced and laid hold of his collar. Then in burst Quincy, also with drawn revolver.

“Got him, have you? Good enough! I’ll take him.”

“Oh, no, you won’t,” answered Benson. “He’s mine. Possession’s nine points of the law, you say.” With his hand still on Rogers’s collar he covered Quincy with his weapon.

Quincy had not raised his; and he stood still, leaning forward, his pistol pointed to the floor, while he glared at Benson.

“Now, then, stop this!” said the proprietor, sternly, as he leveled a bright, nickel-plated revolver at Benson. “Lower that gun–quick! Lower it–“

Benson saw out of the corner of his eye, and slowly lowered the pistol.

“You, too,” he said to Quincy, as he looked at him. “Don’t you raise that shootin’ iron! I’m boss here. Put ’em both on the bar, handles first, both of you!”

There was deadly earnestness in the big man’s voice, and they obeyed him. Handles first the weapons were placed on the bar. Then Quincy said:

“You’re makin’ trouble for yourself. This man is my prisoner, and you’re interfering with an officer.”

“You a p’liceman?” asked the big man, as he placed the weapons under the bar.

“I’m Deputy Sheriff of Maricopa County, Arizona.”

“And I’m a member of the Northwest Mounted Police,” said Benson.

“You’re a long way from home, and you’ve got no friends here. This man has. He says he’s a sailor, and I’m a friend o’ sailors. Been one myself, and I make my livin’ off ’em. And when a sailor runs into my place askin’ to hide from anyone, police or not, I’m on his side every time.”

“He’s no sailor,” said Quincy. “He’s Bill Rogers, an outlaw I came East for.”

“How about it?” asked the proprietor, turning to Rogers. “You a sailor?”

“Have been. Can be again,” answered Rogers calmly.

“Box the compass.”

“North, nor’-an’-by-east, nor’-nor’east, nor’east-an’-by–“

“That’s good. Which side does the main topgallant halyards lead down?”

“Port side. Fore and mizzen to starboard.”

“This man’s a sailor, all right. And he’s not goin’ out o’ my place under any man’s gun, ‘less he’s a policeman with a warrant.”

“Well, we’ll get the policeman with a warrant,” said Quincy, “unless this will do.” He drew forth a receipt made out by the clerk of the court for extradition papers.

Benson stiffened up. “Here’s something better,” he said: “Extradition papers issued by the authorities at Washington. It’s a warrant, if anything is.” He drew forth his evidence of official integrity.

The big man examined both. “Beyond me, just now,” he commented. “However, I’m not goin’ to see a sailor railroaded out o’ my place till I’m sure it’s all right. Come into the back room. We’ll all have a drink and talk it over. Casey!” he yelled at the top of his voice, and when a voice from upstairs answered he added: “Come down here an’ tend bar.”