f
the three one was a pasty-faced, chestless youth, even then under the
influence of cocaine, another was an old, bewhiskered hobo, while the
third was unquestionably a Chinaman.

Even professional courtesy could scarce restrain Sergeant Flannagan's
desire toward bitter sarcasm, and he was upon the point of launching
forth into a vitriolic arraignment of everything west of Chicago up to
and including, specifically, the Kansas City detective bureau, when the
telephone bell at the chief's desk interrupted him. He had wanted the
chief to hear just what he thought, so he waited.

The chief listened for a few minutes, asked several questions and
then, placing a fat hand over the transmitter, he wheeled about toward
Flannagan.

"Well," he said, "I guess I got something for you at last. There's a
bo on the wire that says he's just seen your man down near Shawnee. He
wants to know if you'll split the reward with him."

Flannagan yawned and stretched.

"I suppose," he said, ironically, "that if I go down there I'll
find he's corraled a nigger," and he looked sorrowfully at the three
specimens before him.

"I dunno," said the chief. "This guy says he knows Byrne well, an' that
he's got it in for him. Shall I tell him you'll be down--and split the
reward?"

"Tell him I'll be down and that I'll treat him right," replied
Flannagan, and after the chief had transmitted the message, and hung up
the receiver: "Where is this here Shawnee, anyhow?"

"I'll send a couple of men along with you. It isn't far across the line,
an' there won't be no trouble in getting back without nobody knowin'
anything about it--if you get him."

"All right," said Flannagan, his visions of five hundred already
dwindled to a possible one.

It was but a little past one o'clock that a touring car rolled south out
of Kansas City with Detective Sergeant Flannagan in the front seat with
the driver and two burly representatives of Missouri law in the back.

CHAPTER V. ONE TURN DESERVES ANOTHER

WHEN the two tramps approached the farmhouse at which Billy had
purchased food a few hours before the farmer's wife called the dog that
was asleep in the summer kitchen and took a shotgun down from its hook
beside the door.

From long experience the lady was a reader of character--of hobo
character at least--and she saw nothing in the appearance of either
of these two that inspired even a modicum of confidence. Now the young
fellow who had been there earl