“What happened at the Circle-B?”
“I’m getting to that. The Jew, Abe Isaacs, is at the hotel. I tarried there just long enough to see him in the office and to find out that you were at the jail. I think the Jew better be here with us while the case is tried.”
“This case ain’t goin’ to be tried,” cried the sheriff, “till it comes up in the regular way.”
“Who’s he, Pard Cody?” asked Wild Bill, nodding toward Bloom.
“He’s the sheriff,” answered the scout.
“Oh, is that all? Can’t he be quiet till he’s spoken to? You’re the judge, Buffalo Bill, and the parson is the jury. I’m attorney for the defense, and the sheriff can be attorney for the prosecution, if he wants to. Who’s going after Isaacs—the judge or the jury?”
“The jury had better go,” laughed Jordan; “the judge has to keep an eye on the attorney for the prosecution. I’ll be back before many minutes have passed.”
The sky pilot left the jail.
“I’ve stood for this foolishness about as long as I’m a-going to,” snarled Bloom. “Give me that gun, Buffalo Bill, and clear out o’ here.”
“Not till after the trial,” was the cool reply. “Calm down, Bloom. Don’t get rantankerous. I’ve got a Long Tom and two sixes, and Pard Hickok has a pair of forty-fives. Just reflect on the amount of lead we could throw at one broadside, and take things as you find them.”