“Look here,” Arnold exclaimed, “you ain’t dressed warm enough. They’s some kind of weather breeding.”
He reached beneath the wagon-seat and pulled forth his own coat.
“Put this on,” he directed. “I’ve got my sweater on, and don’t need it.”
Barker pushed it back.
“I’m all right,” he said. “You’ll need that yourself.”
“You do what I tell you,” the deputy insisted. “Put it over your shoulders. The wind’s at your back.”
He thrust the garment across his companion’s wasted shoulders and Barker drew the sleeves across his chest.
As he did so his hand touched something hard, under one lapel. He glanced down at it, and started.
“What’s that?” he cried, turning the metal badge up for closer inspection.
A groan of horror escaped him as he recognized the object.