“I hope I won't disturb you, gentlemen,” he said; “but you are two men that I want to talk to—I might say talk to as a brother.”
“Come in, come in, Braider,” Carson said; “take that chair.”
As Braider moved with uncertain step to a chair, tilted it to one side to divest it of its burden of books, newspapers, and old briefs and other defunct legal documents, Garner with a wary look in his eye fished a solitary cigar from his pocket—the one he had reserved for a mid-day smoke—and prof-ered it.
“Have a cigar,” he said, “and make yourself comfortable.”
The sheriff took the cigar as absent-mindedly as he would, in his condition, have received a large banknote, and held it too tightly for its preservation in his big red hand.
“Yes, I want to talk to you boys, and I want to say a whole lot that I hope won't go any further. I've always meant well by you two, and hoped fer your success both in the law—and politics.”
Garner cast an amused glance, in spite of the gravity of the situation, at his partner, and then said, quite evenly, “We know that, Braider—we always have known it.”