“Whar's Dave?” he said shortly.
“In the calaboose.”
“Did you put him in?”
“Yes,” said Hale calmly.
“Well, by God,” the old man said with repressed fury, “you can't git him out too soon if you want to save trouble.”
“Look here, Judd,” said Hale seriously. “You are one of the last men in the world I want to have trouble with for many reasons; but I'm an officer over here and I'm no more afraid of you”—Hale paused to let that fact sink in and it did—“than you are of me. Dave's been selling liquor.”
“He hain't,” interrupted the old mountaineer. “He didn't bring that liquor over hyeh. I know who done it.”
“All right,” said Hale; “I'll take your word for it and I'll let him out, if you say so, but—-”
“Right now,” thundered old Judd.
“Do you know that young Buck Falin and a dozen of his gang are over here after him?” The old man looked stunned.