I just naturally knew, that moment, that Mr. Pratt had made a binding appointment with me.
The landlord had hailed the stage, which was surging past through the mud. I was obliged to push the judge to start him toward the door; he seemed to be in a daze.
“But we’ve got to stay here,” he croaked in my ear. “They’ve got the money on ’em. They brag about it. You’ll never lay eyes on them again!”
I hurried him along the plank walk toward the coach. “Don’t fret one mite about that part, sir. If we stay here all we can do is stand outside the calaboose and ask ’em to push our money out through the bars. And I’m afraid they are not feeling generous enough just now.”
“But the law will keep them—”
“No, it won’t, sir, if I’m any judge of the sporting blood out here. Royal City will be mighty curious to find out what happens when Mr. Pratt and his friends arrive in Breed. And they’ll come! Don’t worry!”
But the judge was a stubborn old customer! He kept holding back.
“Why not settle it with ’em here?”
“Because I have always read that when a good general has a chance to do it, he picks his own battle-ground and throws up his earthworks before the enemy heaves in sight. I have picked Breed, sir! As to the earthworks, I’ll do some meditating on the way.”
Already my handy Mr. Dragg had given me the germ of a notion, though, of course, he had not meant to make me any presents.