“Say, Sunny’s woke up an’ bin thinkin’,” he cried. “I allow his brain is shockin’ wonderful. Guess he’s got sick o’ restin’ an’ reckons he got a notion for makin’ a trust lay-out.”
“The Zip Trust,” added Sandy, with a laugh, in which Toby joined heartily.
“Yes. He guesses Zip needs lookin’ after,” declared the remittance man in the midst of his mirth, glancing round for appreciation of the joke.
But the encouragement he received fell short of his expectations, and his laugh died out quite abruptly. There was no responsive smile on Minky’s face. Sunny was glowering sulkily; while Bill’s fierce brows were drawn together in an angry frown, and his gimlet eyes seemed to bore their way into the speaker’s face.
“Wal?” he demanded coldly.
“Wal, I think he’s––”
But Bill cut him short in his coldest manner.
“Do you?” he observed icily. “Wal, I’d say you best think ag’in. An’ when you done thinkin’ jest start right over ag’in. An’ mebbe some day you’ll get wise––if you don’t get took meanwhiles.”
Bill flung himself into the chair and crossed his long legs.
“Sunny’s on the right lay,” he went on. “Ther’ ain’t many men on Sufferin’ Creek, but Zip’s one of ’em. Say, Toby, would you ride out to James’ outfit to call him all you think of the feller whose stole your wife?”