“Well, what have you two got to say for yourselves?” he asked finally.
Long legs far apart, bony fingers twisting in a knot behind his back, he glanced coldly at the two punchers.
“It don’t look to me like it was our ante,” Tad grinned easily. “The sheriff tells us yo’re holdin’ the joker.”
“Exactly. The way the play stands, I can either make or break you two.”
He paused.
“Spread yore cards, mister.”
Tad forestalled the silence that Fox had anticipated, a silence during which he had expected to watch these two cow punchers squirm.
A frown of annoyance brought his reddish brows together. He had rather expected to find the prisoners afraid and eager to please him. Instead, both were grinning as if they enjoyed the situation.
“Very well,” he snapped. “I give you your choice. Either you go to the penitentiary or on the LF payroll.”
“Penitentiary?” said Tad slowly. “Since when has it got tuh be a penitentiary offense tuh mix in a two-bit saloon fight?”