“But they stole the scow. They know they’ll be arrested as soon as we land!”
“Sure they do. They won’t even try to dodge it. They’ll be convicted, too. But, if the claim’s any good, what’s six months, or a year?”
“But think of having to go to jail!”
“That don’t worry them kind—they’re reg’lar crooks. They figger on doin’ time every now in so often—charge it up to profit an’ loss, like a storekeeper.”
Rip Wade, who had been intently watching the efforts of the men in the scow, turned explosively toward Sergeant Dan:
“Why in blazes don’t ye pot ’em? Can’t ye see they’re a-goin’ to beat us to it?”
“In the Service we don’t shoot first,” answered the officer, “an’ we don’t shoot at all—if there’s any other way.”
“Well, they hain’t no other way, here—an’ I hain’t in the Service!” The man dropped his paddle and jerked a heavy revolver from its holster. “Ef I c’n wing one of ’em they can’t make no landin’.”
“Rip!” The single word—low spoken—yet with a peculiar hardness of tone, caused the
