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The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 15, Issue 2 (May 1, 1940.)

The Drugged Grog

The Drugged Grog.

“Now,” said the sergeant, “here's your ammunition, Barlow.”

page 26

page 27

He produced from a satchel two large bottles, one of rum, and one of whisky. “Constable Gillies here got Sloane, the chemist, to doctor one, with an opiate, laudanum I think; this is it, the rum. That will settle Mr. Winiata, if you can get it inside him. The other, the bottle of whisky, is all right; you'll probably have to take a tot or two yourself, until you get him and his friends drinking, then when he is well on the way, put the rum before him. You'll be able to handle him then; it's real sailors' boardinghouse Shanghai grog. Now, don't make a mistake, the rum is the knockout drop.”

“Good,” said Barlow, “that's splendid. Now, I must get away; my horse will have finished his bite of oats, and we must jog along. I'll have to be in Otorohanga before daylight—the nights are good and long—and frosty, you bet,” he said, with a grin and a shiver.

Gillies went to a cupboard where he kept his first-aid medicine. “Good luck to you, old man,” he said, pouring out a drink. “This isn't doctored! It will keep the cold out. You can have a couple more, if you like. You know a good stiff whisky poured into each boot is the best thing out for cold toes. Trust an Irish trooper to know that.”

Barlow laughingly declined the footwarmers, but had his tot with the policemen; then he rose to go.

“Hold on a moment, Barlow,” said the sergeant. “You have no revolver, have you? Gillies, lend him yours, with a box of cartridges, just in case. Winiata may be armed.”

Barlow took the revolver, and a pair of handcuffs. Shaking hads with the policemen, he went out to the stable, got his horse and rode off into the clear frosty night.

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