Dear Wormy loved a joke. "You say zees Indians he is ennocent, hein? How you know?"
"I talk Blackfoot, sir."
"Vell done, my boy! Veil done."
"He's in for shooting up a dog. Can't be done, sir. His rifle used to be mine—so I know it shoots round corners, and that dog, sir, is all corners. Why, sir, if you aim at a cow with that old gun you have to fire backward. The Blackfeet are rotten shots, anyway, and this man's a champion misser with a squint. Let him off, sir."
"You offer to serve hees sentence?"
"Yes, sir."
"Can you proof hee's not guilty?"
"You have my word of honor, and his squint, sir."
"Humph! You can go to your duty."
I cleared out quick lest Wormy should change his mind, and whistled piercing shrills to Rich Mixed across the square.