landed squarely on his shin. He cried out with pain and rage; a sledge hammer blow landed on my wounded and lacerated brow; I sank down, and again I was unconscious.
How long I lay after Bill's last brutal blow I do not know. My first second of consciousness disclosed the fact to me that my eyes were uncovered, my limbs untied, and Beggs sitting by my side bathing my wounded head. In surprise I attempted to get up, but fell back.
"How in the world did you get here?" I asked.
"We got alarmed at your delay and crossed over the line; got on the trail of the smugglers; followed one of the men to this camp; found them all gone but the one that was watching you; tied him up and let you loose," answered Beggs.
"Where did the smugglers go?"
"Towards the American side; got a man trailing them!"
"And I won't have a hand in it at all, after all my fight!"
"Looks that way! I will have to leave you now, I have to get back to be in the arrest; these two lads will help you home. Goodby!"
"Goodby!" and he was gone. The men helped me home, where for several days I tossed about feverishly in bed. As soon as I could sit up in bed, I sent for the county papers. I learned that the smugglers had undoubtedly given the officials the slip, and that a recent seizure of a large quantity of opium made a few days before was supposed to have been a part of the outfit of the gang I had been interviewing.
The papers also published an interview that a reporter had with a ranchman back in the country some distance from the Sound. The ranchman stated that he had seen a large body of Chinamen near his ranch.
The paragraph that interested me the most was the following:—
Collector ——— has been notified that some meddlesome fellow had interfered with the government officials' plans for the capture of a gang of rascals that were almost in their grasp. Through this man's officious interference the said suspected rascals were warned of the near proximity of American officers, and crossed over at a remote point. This charge has been investigated, and satisfactory evidence produced to prove the criminal carelessness or guilt of this man. It has been ascertained that he got into a drunken brawl, was seriously wounded, and is now lying delirious from the effects of cuts and the vile stuff he had been drinking. He has been dismissed from the service, without pay.
I read all this in wild-eyed dismay, speechless and thunderstruck, and skipping the next few paragraphs, I read the closing one at the bottom of the page and article, the man's name who had created so much turmoil with the government "internals," in large, bold characters,—Brandreth Jones.
Crazy with disappointment, grief, and blasted hopes, I fell on my back, tearing the paper to shreds. I would prosecute the government. I would sue them for libel. They should suffer for this, the thankless ingrates.
Calmer moments succeeded; then came reaction. I would let the country go to the dogs. No more would I risk my life in its cause. I would let them feel my loss, and allow smugglers to walk in their midst unmolested.
The once (should have been) great name of Brandreth Jones, no longer is found on a government pay-roll, but may be seen on a small sign over a boot-black's chair in a doorway on a Tacoma street:—
Shine 'em up. 10 cts.
B. Jones. Prop.
