I tried to pull up my pony, for I did not want to be
jerked off, but I was too late, and the next moment I was lying on the
ground in a pretty well shaken and jarred condition, surrounded by a
lot of men.
CHAPTER XII
AN EVENING IN JAIL
Before my ideas had had time to straighten themselves out, I was
lifted to my feet, and half pushed, half lifted to the station
platform. Camp was already there, and as I took this fact in I saw
Frederic and his lordship pulled through the doorway of my car by the
cowboys and dragged out on the platform beside me. The reports were
now in Lord Ralles's hands.
"That's what we want, boys," cried Camp. "Those letters."
"Take your hands off me," said Lord Ralles, coolly, "and I'll give
them to you."
The men who had hold of his arms let go of him, and quick as a flash
Ralles tore the papers in two. He tried to tear them once more, but,
before he could do so, half a dozen men were holding him, and the
papers were forced out of his hands.
Albert Cullen--for all of them were on the platform of 218 by this
time--shouted, "Well done, Ralles!" quite forgetting in the excitement
of the moment his English accent and drawl.
Apparently Camp didn't agree with him, for he ripped out a string of
oaths which he impartially divided among Ralles, the cowboys, and
myself. I was decidedly sorry that I hadn't given the real letters,
for his lordship clearly had no scruple about destroying them, and I
knew few men whom I would have seen behind prison-bars with as little
personal regret.
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