He simply sprang for the back door
and bolted for Kansas soil. He
reached it, and, since his cares of
state had left him no time to arrange
an extradition treaty with Kansas, he
was safe there from molestation, and,
grinding his teeth, he watched the
ruin of his kingdom.
If Johnson had entered the back
door he would have had Lewis, for in
Indian Territory he was supreme.
However, he was not thinking very
much about the king just then. Nor
did he regard the courtiers and no
bility at the bar and gaming tables,
who made their exits in record time
also, some seeking shelter in the Ter
ritory and others in Kansas. John
son's principle design was to put
Monte Carlo out of commission.
Johnson and Keeler made a grab for
Killion and Elijah Paradise, and in a
trice had them in irons.
"But you can't take us for this,"
wailed the prophet, as he tried to
wriggle out*of his handcuffs.
"That's what the lawyer told the
man in jail," answered Pussyfoot.
Then, grasping a heavy bung start
er, Johnson entered upon his favorite
pastime. The rouiette wheel went in
to splinters, the tables became a pile
of debris, the cards were torn to
ehreds in Johnson's strong fingers,
while he whistled "I'm the Man Who
Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo."
Having satisfied himself that the bank
was broken beyond repair, Pussyfoot
turned his attention to the liquid re
freshments. The sacred prohibition
soil of Kansas, and the equally uncon
taminated soil of Indian Territory
soon became a morass, through which
a dozen rivers of tanglefoot and "Old
Rye" wended their sluggish ways.
