Hammond did not glance up, but answered, with a half-smile, "I'm sorry, but I, haven't got anything."
"I have," said Bill, shuffling toward him with the flask.
Blodgett twisted about in his chair and called, "You look and act as if you'd had enough."
Bill left the desk and seated himself beside Blodgett again. "I don't want it for myself," he said, putting the spurned flask back in his pocket; "it's just for social—ability. I don't drink."
"Don't tell me that," scoffed the sheriff. "You're a booze-fighter."
"No, I ain't," Bill answered, quickly.
Then seeing a chance for romance, he added, "I'm an Indian-fighter."
"Is that so?" Blodgett drew out his answer in an accent that spoke of disbelief.
"You bet it's so. Did you ever know Buffalo Bill?" Bill leaned forward so he could see what impression he was making upon the sheriff.
Out of the corner of his eyes Blodgett was watching Bill. "Yes, I knew him well," said the sheriff, gruffly.