"On a stack of Bibles," Bill assented.
"Let me see it," Charley demanded, rapidly running his eye over the precious document. "'Five hundred dollars reward!' Five hundred fiddlesticks! Why, he'd go five hundred better and be off in a jiffy, with just a nod and a wink from the officers to keep out of the way a while." Having expressed this opinion, Charley tossed the handbill on the table with a disdainful sniff.
Walter was dumb. He had actually thought for a whole month that the mere sight of this accusing piece of paper would make the guilty wretch fall on his knees and beg for mercy. And to be told now that it was only so much waste paper struck him speechless.
Charley again came to the rescue. "Come, come; don't stand there looking as if you'd lost every friend you had on earth, but brace up. If you'd wanted to have that robber arrested, you should have gone a different way to work—'cordin' to law."
"What's to be done, then?"
"My idee is like this. Californy law is no good, anyhow. It's on the side that has most dust. But here's three of us and only one of him. We can lay for him, get him into some quiet corner, and then frighten him into doing what we say. How's that?"
"Capital! Just the thing. I always said you had the best head of the three."
"All right, then," cried Charley in his old, sprightly way; "I give you both a holiday, so you can see the sights. Walter, you take care that Bill don't get lost or stolen."
"Me take care o' him, you mean," Bill retorted.