"Been arrestin' any one in California lately?" Bill slid past Blodgett, ignoring his attempt to stop him, the old twinkle in his eye as he touched what he knew to be the sheriff's sensitive spot.
"Well, Lightnin'," Marvin exclaimed, "how did you get here and what in the world have you come for?"
"Yer case ain't over yet, is it?"
Marvin shook his head, repeating his first question.
Bill did not reply at once. Not wanting Marvin to know that he and Zeb had been nearly two weeks getting there, and that they had come in much the same way they had gone, riding when they could get a lift on a train or a wagon, walking when they could not, he pretended to forget the young man's questions, asking one himself instead, "What time your case comin' up?"
"Two o'clock."
The sheriff sauntered up to them. Bill knew the purpose of his approach was to catch the drift of their conversation, so he turned abruptly, his hands in his back pockets, and grinned at Blodgett. Nodding toward Marvin, he drawled, "I'm a witness for him. I got to testify how you served a warrant on him."
The sheriff glared and slouched over to his chair, throwing himself into it as he pulled his black sombrero down over his eyes.
Marvin, his arm about Bill's shoulders, leaned over him, guiding him gently to the attorneys' table. "Well, Lightnin'," he questioned, in an indulgent voice, "how did you happen to show up here?"
"I promised you, didn't I?"