“I see that, all right.”
“We’ve been holdin’ ’em in a room leadin’ off from that cellar which was searched to-night,” the saloon keeper told him. “Cody, when he was knockin’ round down there, hammered with his knuckles on the walls. He didn’t hit the right spot, or he would have tumbled. The thing is too risky. He will search the place again, and he’ll find that room. Then I’ll be in more trouble than I want.”
“If I ton’dt kill him in the meantime!” said White-eyed Moses.
“Moses will have to go into training, before he can qualify as a pistol expert,” said Gopher Gabe, with a skeptical laugh.
“You mean that when he shoots at a man he hits the lamp beside him, or shoots through the window where he is sitting, and hits the wall? It would indicate that our friend Moses has got a bad case of shaking palsy in his trigger finger, when shooting times comes. He ought to get over it.”
Uncle Sam’s gurgling laugh sounded again, as he concluded:
“Why don’t you hire a substitute, Moses, who isn’t affected in that way?” he asked.
“I’ve tried to hire ’em,” the saloon keeper admitted. “But the men of this town are so paralyzed with fear whenever Cody comes in sight that money won’t buy ’em; they say they don’t want to die with their boots on. He has got a bad reputation as a quick gun man, and they don’t want to take the risks.”
“Yet a bit of cool assassination couldn’t get ’em into trouble! I should think they would appreciate the fine art of downing a man in the dark, when he wasn’t looking. Drop a man that way, and he can’t shoot back, you know.”
“I reckon you’re laughin’ about it.”