“Do you think I’m going to fight him?” demanded Baggs.
“Well, yuh didn’t; so what can yuh do about it?”
“Do you think I’m going to let him batter me around?”
“Say, what do yuh think this is—a guessin’ contest, Baggs? What do I know about what you’ll do and what yuh won’t do? Yuh wasn’t aimin’ to have Len arrested for slappin’ yuh, was yuh?”
“It was plain assault.”
“Yea-a-a-ah, I s’pose it was; very plain. But it ain’t up to me, Baggs. Get the judge to swear out a warrant and I’ll serve it.”
Baggs was mad. He even glared at Hashknife, who grinned at him openly. He walked to the door, but turned to fire a parting shot:
“I suppose you don’t know who killed Charley Prentice.”
“Well,” said the sheriff wearily, “I didn’t do it, because I’m the sheriff; and you didn’t because you ain’t got the nerve.”
“That’s supposed to be a smart answer, isn’t it, Dillon?”