"I guess I'll put them fellers through the sweat box." "The _what ?_" demanded George Ray.
"The sweat-box--b-o-x, box.

Cain't you hear ?" "I thought you used a cell." "Thunderation, no! Nobody but country jakes call it a cell," said Anderson in fine scorn.
The three prisoners scowled at him so fiercely and snarled so vindictively when they asked him if they were to be starved to death, that poor Anderson hurried home and commanded his wife to pack "a baskit of bread and butter an' things fer the prisoners." It was nine o'clock before he could make up his mind to venture back to the calaboose with his basket.

He spent the intervening hours in telling Rosalie and Bonner about the shocking incident at the jail and in absorbing advice from the clear-headed young man from Boston.
"I'd like to go with you to see those fellows, Mr.Crow," was Bonner's rueful lament.

"But the doctor says I must be quiet until this confounded thing heals a bit.

Together, I think we could bluff the whole story out of those scoundrels." "Oh, never you fear," said the marshal; "I'll learn all there is to be learnt.