Drawing his pistols from his belt and grasping one in each hand, Paul Jones suddenly kicked open the door and entered the robbers’ rendezvous. There were three men there and they were gallows birds, every mother’s son of them - as ripe for murder as for drinking a glass of grog.
“Who might you be?” queried one, hoarsely.
“Capt. Paul Jones,” was the airy reply. “Now, flat on the floor, the three of you!”
“Ye’re the very devil, Paul Jones!” said one robber.
“Thank you for your high opinion,” Capt. Paul replied.
- Adapted from “Paul Jones Weekly,” Number 10, December 2, 1905
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