"Tag! You're out of the
game, my friend," he said pleasantly.
As the document fluttered to Sexton's feet, the latter turned to
Jules Rondeau. "I can no longer take charge here, Rondeau," he
explained. "I am forbidden to interfere."
"Jules Rondeau can do ze job," the woods-boss replied easily. "Ze
law, she have not restrain' me. I guess mebbeso you don' take dose
theengs away, eh, M'sieur Cardigan. Myself, I lak see."
The deputy marshal handed Rondeau a paper, at the same time showing
his badge. "You're out, too, my friend," he laughed. "Don't be
foolish and try to buck the law. If you do, I shall have to place a
nice little pair of handcuffs on you and throw you in jail--and if
you resist arrest, I shall have to shoot you. I have one of these
little restraining orders for every able-bodied man in the Laguna
Grande Lumber Company's employ--thanks to Mr. Ogilvy's foresight; so
it is useless to try to beat this game on a technicality."
Sexton, who still lingered, made a gesture of surrender. "Dismiss
your crew, Rondeau," he ordered. "We're whipped to a frazzle."
A gleam of pleasure, not unmixed with triumph, lighted the dark eyes
of the French-Canadian. "I tol' M'sieur Sexton she cannot fight
M'sieur Cardigan and win," he said simply, "Now mebbe he believe that
Jules Rondeau know somet'ing.
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