"We must end this
interview if you cannot make your statements without profanity. This
is Her Majesty's court of Justice and we cannot tolerate any unbecoming
language.
"Waal, I'll be--!"
"Pardon me, Mr. Commissioner," said Mr. Hiram S. Sligh, interrupting
his friend and client. "Perhaps I may make a statement. We've lost some
twenty or thirty horses."
"Thirty-one" interjected Mr. Raimes quietly.
"Thirty-one!" burst in Mr. Cadwaller indignantly. "That's only one
little bunch."
"And," continued Mr. Sligh, "we have traced them right up to the
Blood reserve. More than that, Mr. Raimes has seen the horses in the
possession of the Indians and we want your assistance in recovering our
property."
"Yes, by gum!" exclaimed Mr. Cadwaller. "And we want
them--eh--eh--consarned redskin thieves strung up."
"You say you have seen the stolen horses on the Blood reserve, Mr.
Raimes?" enquired the Commissioner.
Mr. Raimes, who was industriously chewing a quid of tobacco, ejected,
with a fine sense of propriety and with great skill and accuracy, a
stream of tobacco juice out of the door before he answered.
"I seen 'em."
"When did you lose your horses?"
Mr. Raimes considered the matter for some moments, chewing energetically
the while, then, having delivered himself with the same delicacy and
skill as before of his surplus tobacco juice, made laconic reply:
"Seventeen, no, eighteen days ago.
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