"I can explain to him, since he knows me."
Another officer approached, and the first one requested him to
handcuff his prisoner.
A hot flush of anger shot to the cheek of the detective.
"This is going too far," he said in a vexed tone. "If you attempt to
put the irons on me, I'll make you trouble. I tell you I am acquainted
with your chief, and demand that you take me to him."
"That's fair enough," said the second officer.
"But he's a dangerous character," persisted the first.
"Whom do you take me for," Dyke demanded indignantly.
"Slim Steve, the train robber."
"Where did you get your information?"
"It doesn't matter."
"You'd better go slow, officer. Look at that, and tell me what you
think of it?"
Turning back the lap of his coat Dyke Darrel revealed a glittering
silver star, and below this a flaming eye on a dark background.
"A Pinkerton detective!" exclaimed the second officer.
"I am a detective, and know my business without receiving instructions
from the police of a one-horse town," retorted Dyke Darrel in anger.
"I am willing, however, to visit your chief, who will confirm my
words."
"We had orders from him to arrest you."
"Very good. I demand that you take me before him.
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