Inspector French tapped Long Jim on the shoulder.
"Look here," he remonstrated, "you're looking for trouble. You can't treat
the representatives of the law like this."
Long Jim turned slowly around. His politeness was ominous.
"Say, you got me scared," he replied. "Am I going to be hung?"
"The law must be respected," French said firmly. "Untie those men."
Long Jim scratched his head for a moment.
"Say, Mr. Inspector," he remarked, "you're a fine man in your way but you
weigh too much--that's what's the matter with you. Boys," he added,
turning around, "what's the best exercise for reducing flesh?"
"Dancing," they shouted.
Long Jim grinned. He fell a little back. Suddenly he lowered his gun and
shot into the ground, barely an inch from French's feet. The Inspector
leaped into the air.
"Once more, boys," the cowboy went on. "Keep it up, Inspector. Jump a
little higher next time. You barely cleared that one."
The bullets buried themselves in the dust around the Inspector's feet.
Fuming with anger, French found himself continually forced to jump. The
two deputies, forgotten for the moment, watched with something that was
almost like a grin upon their faces. Laura, protesting loudly, was obliged
more than once to look away to hide a smile. Jim at last slipped his gun
into his holster.
"No more ammunition to waste, boys," he declared. "Untie the guys with the
warrant and bring out the bottle of rye. Say," he went on, addressing the
deputies as they struggled to their feet, "and you, Mr.
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