"She is. You cain't sell a drop. But you can keep stuff for personal use. There ain't nothing more personal than givin' it away to your friends."
"The price of calico is high down here."
"And goin' up," agreed Bill, gloomily. He drove ten miles in silence while I, knowing my type, waited.
"That old Billings ought to be drug out and buried," he remarked at last. "We rode together on the Chiracahua range. He ought to know better than to try to put it onto me."
"???" said I.
"You saw that first bottle? Just plain forty-rod dog poison—and me payin' three good round dollars!"
"For calico," I reminded.
"Shore. That's why he done it. He had me—if I hadn't called him."
"But that first bottle was identically the same as the one you have in your pocket," I stated.
"Shore?"