"And now I wish to state to Colonel the solemn fact that I had nothing to do with the job put up on him to-night. I scorn to use such means in a battle. Colonel, you may be as bald as an apple, or an egg, yes, or a _plate_, but you can play more checkers than any man I ever met, more checkers than any other man on God's green footstool.--With one-single, lone exception--myself." At this moment, somebody hit the dead-beat from Cerro-Gordo with a decayed apple, and as the crowd shouted and groaned Robie turned down the lights on the tumult. The old Colonel seized the opportunity for putting a handful of salt down Walters' neck, and slipped out of the door like a ghost. As the crowd swarmed out on the icy walk, Editor Foster yelled:-- "Gents! let me give you a pointer. Keep your eye peeled for the next edition of the Rock River _Morning Call_." And the bitter wind swept away the answering shouts of the gang. * * * * * [Transcriber's Notes: Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as possible, including obsolete and variant spellings and other inconsistencies. The transcriber made the following changes to the text to correct obvious errors by the publisher: 1. p. 412, "tranverse" changed to "transverse" Also, several occurrences of mismatched quotes remain as published. End of Transcriber's Notes]