Bill leaned closer to Blodgett and looked squarely into his eyes, which showed the same doubt as his own. "I learned him all he knew about killing Indians. Did he ever tell you about the duel I fought with Settin' Bull?"
"Settin' Bull?" The sheriff sat up straight and let his glance travel the length of Bill's body and back again to the old man's eyes, which were not quivering a lash.
"He was standin' when I shot him," grinned Bill. "I never took advantage of nobody, not even an Indian."
The sheriff relaxed contemptuously into his chair again. "You've got a bee in your bonnet, 'ain't you?"
"What do you know 'bout bees?" Bill started to roll a cigarette.
"Not much. Do you?" was Blodgett's reply as he looked straight ahead.
Bill slowly rolled the weed, put it in his mouth, and chewed on the end of it. Then he made slow answer, halting between sentences, his eyes slanting toward Blodgett to gather the effect of his words:
"I know all about 'em. I used to be in the bee business. Drove a swarm of bees across the plains in the dead of winter once. And never lost a bee. Got stung twice."
The sheriff jumped to his feet and directed a scornful glance Bill's way as he straightened his coat about his shoulders, twisted his belt, and started for the door, taking his chair and putting it in its place against the wall on his way. "I got enough. I'm going outside."
Hammond, who had been busy going over the register all this while, now came from behind the desk and walked toward Bill. "Now look here, Mr. Jones—"