He sat up in the bed. “Wait,” he said. “Hold up. You are not going.” “That is part of it,” said I. “It cannot be done.” “And why not? You have misjudged me if you think I am silly enough to give you a hundred dollars and watch you ride away. No, I will see the thing done myself.” “I am a bonded U.S. marshal.” “That weighs but little with me. R. B. Hayes is the U.S. President and they say he stole Tilden out.”
