"
But I didn't hanker for Craney's throne. The last I saw of him for
that time was bidding him good-bye on the beach. He appeared to have
most of the public to carry up his cargo, and he appeared to be
popular. Kamelillo stayed with him as interpreter.
At Honolulu there came two men aboard with a letter from the agent
in San Francisco, which agent was irritating on account of slowness,
and had weedy-looking hair. But the letter said:
"Put the _Good Sister_ at service of bearers. They have a
warrant for Phipp." I says:
"Warrant for Phipp! What for?"
One of them was a sheriff named Breen, a slow, temperate man, and
the other a detective named Jessamine, a yellow-bearded one with
light open eyes, who seemed a pleasant talker, but to the best of my
recollection was one you might call obstinate. They showed me their
papers, and these appeared to be correct. Jessamine's papers stated
that he represented parties in St. Louis, whose names don't count.
"Warrant!" I says. "What for?"
"Why," says Jessamine, "Phipp isn't his name, as you will see by the
warrant;" which was no particular news to me. But I didn't like the
job of going back after Craney.
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