“You don’t look awful glad to see an old friend, Miles,” said Billy Gee suavely, after a short pause. “An’ so you’re Jule Quintell, the boss of Geerusalem, I’ve heerd so much about, eh? They tell me you bin runnin’ things to suit yoreself, an’ gettin’ away with it. Like you got away with it that other time, eh, Miles? Oh, Pete!” he called out suddenly. “Come on in an’ see who’s here!”
Out of the hall behind him trotted Tinnemaha Pete. He stopped, squinting at the visitors.
“Oho! If it ain’t you, Dot! What’re ye doin’—an’ Mr. Spangaree, or I’m a liar! That’s yore ol’ man, ain’t it?” His glance fell on Quintell, then he shuffled up to him and peered boldly into his face. “Billy,” he burst out, giggling, “you ol’ son-of-a-g*n, you ketched him! Kill him! Go on an’ kill him—”
The outlaw rais
