Whittles suddenly gasped; his face turned deathly pale, and his hands trembled.
"What's wrong, Hen?" the lawyer asked, noting his companion's agitation. "I didn't know you were subject to nervous trouble. This story has upset you a bit. You need a stimulant. Why in thunder doesn't that express team show up!"
"Say, Tom," and Whittles leaned over the table, "suppose it had been you or me instead of Joe?"
"You or me! What do you mean?"
"Abner loves us about as much as he loved Joe this morning, doesn't he?"
"Oh, I see," and the lawyer rubbed his chin in a thoughtful manner. "I never thought of that."
"I know you didn't. Now, suppose Abner gets out of jail and learns who gave Joe that information, what then?"
Rackshaw shifted somewhat uneasily in his chair, and glanced down at the dog. Then he laughed and picked up the cards he had dropped upon the table.
"I guess Abner won't do any more of his wild stunts for a while," he remarked. "He's in deep enough water now. He'll need a lawyer to defend him, and I'm the only one in town."
"He won't come to you."