“I've not got a weapon.”
“The boys allowed you mightn't hev, and so I brought some along. You ken suit your hand.” While speaking he produced two or three revolvers of different sizes, and laid them before me.
Dazed by the rapid progress of the plot, indignant, too, at the trick played upon me, I took up the nearest revolver and looked at it almost without seeing it. The Sheriff seemed to take my gaze for that of an expert's curiosity.
“It shoots true,” he said meditatively, “plumb true; but it's too small to drop a man. I guess it wouldn't stop any one with grit in him.”
My anger would not allow me to consider his advice; I thrust the weapon in my pocket:
“I haven't got a buggy. How am I to get to Osawotamie?”
“Mine's hitched up outside. You ken hev it.”
Rising to my feet I said: “Then we can go.”
We had nearly reached the door of the office, when the Sheriff stopped, turned his back upon the door, and looking straight into my eyes said:
“Don't play foolish. You've no call to go. Ef you're busy, ef you've got letters to write, anythin' to do—I'll tell the boys you sed so, and that'll be all; that'll let you out.”