“You don't disturb me, Sheriff,” I rejoined. “As for studying, there's not much in it. I seem to prefer dreaming.”
“Wall,” he said, letting his eyes range round the walls furnished with Law Reports bound in yellow calf, “I don't know, I guess there's a big lot of readin' to do before a man gets through with all those.”
“Oh,” I laughed, “the more I read the more clearly I see that law is only a sermon on various texts supplied by common sense.”
“Wall,” he went on slowly, coming a pace or two nearer and speaking with increased seriousness, “I reckon you've got all Locock's business to see after: his clients to talk to; letters to answer, and all that; and when he's on the drunk I guess he don't do much. I won't worry you any more.”
“You don't worry me,” I replied. “I've not had a letter to answer in three days, and not a soul comes here to talk about business or anything else. I sit and dream, and wish I had something to do out there in the sunshine. Your work is better than reading words, words—nothing but words.”
“You ain't busy; hain't got anything to do here that might keep you? Nothin'?”
“Not a thing. I'm sick of Blackstone and all Commentaries.”
Suddenly I felt his hand on my shoulder (moving half round in the chair, I had for the moment turned sideways to him), and his voice was surprisingly hard and quick:
“Then I swear you in as a Deputy-Sheriff of the United States, and of this State of Kansas; and I charge you to bring in and deliver at the Sheriff's house, in this county of Elwood, Tom Williams, alive or dead, and—there's your fee, five dollars and twenty-five cents!” and he laid the money on the table.
Before the singular speech was half ended I had swung round facing him, with a fairly accurate understanding of what he meant. But the moment for decision had come with such sharp abruptness, that I still did not realize my position, though I replied defiantly as if accepting the charge: