"Well, it seems like a pretty good chunk of trouble to hand an average citizen," young Jones said.
"Trouble?" Lopez let out the word in wrath. "You are no trouble. You only sink you are."
"You don't call this trouble? If it isn't then I don't know what trouble is!"
"Not really trouble." He came over and put his hand on Gilbert's shoulder. "Only trouble you are made for yourself because you go by law what are foolish instead of sense what are wise." He gave him an affectionate pat. Just then Uncle Henry wheeled himself in, neither inquiring nor caring if he was wanted or not.
"Well, I sure told 'em their right names for once, gol darn 'em!" he chuckled. Lopez glared at him. "Pardon me! My mistake!" the invalid apologized; and rolled into the alcove. "So, you sink you have much trouble," Lopez continued, as though the invalid had not come in to interrupt them. The clock struck five. He listened to it, and then said, "I have time to spare—" He went to the window and looked out.
"But if you've been raiding around here," Uncle Henry said from his seclusion, "won't the rangers be after you?"
"I have ze scouts who watch," the bandit said. He turned to Gilbert again. "Suppose I stop here and prove to you who sink you have trouble, zat really you have no trouble at all?"
The young man looked at him incredulously. "You mean you can get me out of this mess?" he asked.
"Sure! In one half hour," the bandit was convinced.
"Really?"