“Well they must have something to eat,” said Punner. “They can’t starve.”
“Thet’s so,” the sheriff admitted, “they kin hev a bite er so.”
“And we——”
“You men folks cayn’t hev a dorg gone mouthful, so shet up!”
“Well,” observed Cattleton, dryly, “it appears the odds is the difference between falling into the hands of moonshiners and coming under the influence of a lawful sheriff.”
“I know a little law,” interposed Bartley Hubbard with a sullen emphasis, “and I know that this sheriff has no right to tumble us out of doors, and for my part——”
“Fur yer part,” said the sheriff coolly, “fur yer part, Mister, ef ye fool erlong o’ me I’ll crack yer gourd fur ye.”
“You’ll do what?”
“I’ll stave in yer piggin.”
“I don’t understand.”