Silver Mag!
Yes, he had heard of Silver Mag--as every one in the Bad Lands had heard
of her. Silver Mag and her pocketful of coin! Always a pocketful of
silver, so they said, that was dispensed prodigally to the wives
and children temporarily deprived of support by husbands and fathers
unfortunate enough in their clashes with the law to be doing "spaces"
up the river--and therefore the underworld swore by Silver Mag.
Always silver, never a bill; Silver Mag had never been seen with a
banknote--that was her eccentricity. Much or little, she gave or paid
out of her pocketful of jangling silver. She was credited with being
a sworn enemy of the police, and--yes, he remembered, too--with having
done "time" herself. "I don't quite understand," he said, in a puzzled
way. "I haven't run across you personally because you probably took
care to see that I shouldn't; but--it's no secret--every one says you've
served a jail sentence yourself."
"That is simply enough explained," she answered gravely. "The story is
of my own making. When I decided to adopt this life, both for my own
safety and as the best means of keeping a watch on that man, I knew that
I must win the confidence of the underworld, that I must have help, and
that in order to obtain that help I must have some excuse for my enmity
against the man known as Henry LaSalle. To be widely known in the
underworld was of inestimable value--nothing, I knew, could accomplish
that as quickly as eccentricity.
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