Wild Charlie, the Indian medicine "doctor," immaculate in black frock suit and patent leather shoes, with a handsome sombrero spread over the glistening black hair that hung down over his shoulders, rushed up.
"Let these people go, Chief," begged the picturesque quack doctor.
"I'll pay for any damage they've done." Chief Simmons looked the long-haired "doctor" over with a broad grin.
"You're Wild Charlie, are you ?" demanded the chief.
"Yes, partner." "What part of Vermont do you come from! Or is Germany your hailing place, Wild Charlie ?" "Don't josh me too hard, Chief," pleaded the medicine fakir "Will you let my people go, if I settle ?" "These terrors," retorted Chief Simmons, "are about due for thirty days for disturbing the peace." "But that would bust my summer season, Chief," pleaded "Wild Charlie." "Oh, don't run these innocents in, Chief," urged Tom Reade.

"They aren't really bad, and they admitted it as soon as we told 'em so.
These people are not dangerous---only a bit nervous." "See here, Wild Charlie," grinned the chief of police, "I don't want to do anything to make you wilder.

I'll let these human picture books go on condition that you take your show at once and clear on out of town." "I may just as well go," sighed the long-haired one.

"This job has ruined my business here.

And say, Chief, won't you break the guns and knock the cartridges out, and then let me have the guns, too?
They cost a lot of money!" But on this point Chief Simmons was firm.
"No, sirree! You can take your infant terrors and load them on the first train away from here.