The semi-weekly messenger. [volume] (Wilmington, N.C.) 1897-1908, 1903-04-24
BILL JONES,
THIEF CATCHER
By Matt Hamilton.

~fIuSSell.)
1t was pay out at the Lone Star.
Piute, at that time, was not possessed
of a bank, hence the arrival of the
money On the early morning overland
from a Francisco.
Immediately thereafter the company's
agent transferred it to the custody of
Bill Jones, the trusted, fresh-faced
. young giant, who ~freighted out to the
mines. The agent found him swearing
cheerfulIy, as he hitched eight sleepy
raw-boned mules to the loaded wagons
in the long shed, at the rear of tho
store.
Bill Jones drove along, humming to
himself:
"She was bred in ole Ken"
Halt Hands up!'
The word was bitten off, and his
hands went up, jerk line and all. He
had been held UP once before in his
life, and still carried a bullet around
in his anatomy. as a souvenir of the
OCCASION, when he failed to obey a SIM
liar command with the required
promptness. He thought of hat now.
The big man had seemingly sprung
dI OIlc DOuIlu 1tOIl DcAlIl III OCh dl
the side of the narrow, dusty road. He
stood, one and or the off eader's bit,
the other leVeling a heavy Colts nav
at the drivers head. The next moment
the shorter of the pair emerged, join
ing his companion. He carried a Win
chester. The patient mules stood like
craven images, ready to remain in
their tracks till night.
Bill Jones sat quite still, steadily
chewing at his tobacco. He believed he
had nothing to fear, personally But
the money-that troubled him He
had warned the against this,
but had received the assurance that a
road agent would never think of hold
ing up a freight outfit. Still, he had
carried the monthly payroll for a year
without mishap. He gazed intently at
the pair, but their masks and long dus-
tiers disguised them completely.
Tie uD them lines and come down
from there" commanded the big man.
leaving his companion to guard the
sleepy mules, which couldn't AVE been
induced to move, except with a black
snake. He advanced toward the
wagon.
Bill threw his head sideways, spat
put a yellow stream. wound the single
rein abou the brakA. and came down.
The big man felt him over for a gun
Finding non he asked sharply:
where's that money!"
Here" answered Bill Jones, inno-
Gently, tapping his pocket. "This IS
all the money l got. I amt no Wells.
Fargo Afterward he was sorry for
that speech.
Don't you try to git funny, young
Teller, or I'll 1t daylight through you,
damn quick. You know what money I
mean. It's On one one of them wagons.
Now, you Toint it out, lively" He
poked the Colts navy within an inch
OF the drivers face.
at tell you. honestly. 1 amt carryin'
any money. They're gofn' to bring it
over on the stage this afternoon he
replied. considerably more earnestly
than a moment before
whats the natter" asked the
smaller man. from the head of the team.
"Ain't he goin' to give up?"
Says he amt carryin' the stuff to-
day" laughed the big man, in scoff1ng
tones.
Hit him a belt on the nut with Yer
gun, an maybe he'll change his mind.
suggested the man with the Winchester,
See here" said the big a stiffen-
ing, speaking in cold, yer tones that
cut the air like sword thrusts. I'll just
give you three seconds to tell where that
SG0AL - IL AOO ~LONSA
~stubborn's a mule, III plug you. We're
goin' to find it anyhow. if we have &c
unload your whole blame outfit. One
Bill Jones stopped chewing now. and
looked straight at the robbers eyes,
cleaning strangely bright through the
Sits in his mask. He knew men, and
knew that this one would do just exact
ly as he promised.
saT-w-O T-h---r-"
In the middle of the front wagon.
under the floor, il a box" said the driv-
er. quickly.
That's right. I'd affixed you plenty
in another second replied the big man.
1T amt your one anyhow, so you
needn't lose any sleep over it."
But it b'longs te the comp'ny, and
I'm a-haulin' it. You amt goin' tC
come to no good end for this" advised
Bill Jones. boldly.
Damn the company, and you, tool
blazed the big man, in an irritated tone
You hop up there and yank then
sacks O 1our out of the way. Be live
ly! You move like an OK team, you do
You amt hirin' me-" grumbled Bill
Jones, as he began tossing the fifty
pound sacks up towards the seat. He
had resumed chewing again. Now
here's your old money! as the bottom
was reached. You got to come up AND
git it. I amt a-goin' to touch it."
The smaller man Joined them now
He jabbed the mulepuncher in the ribs
with his rifle as the latter clambereC
down, while the man with the Colts
navy mounted the wagon n took pos
session. He raised the heavy, clanking
canvas bag from the open box, after
taking possession of the bottle of Whis-
key on top of it, and laughed nOisily
in great sarcasm:
"Oh, no. you was The innocent little
boy that wasn't carryin' no dough, You
was a good liar, but we was onto you
I guess We'll take this whiskey. too
It's good for somethin'-snake bites
maybe. Eth, hub?'
The ~mulepuncher made no reply, but
looked longingly at his bottle transfer