The landlord walked swiftly to the drummer, who quailed.
"Yo're lyin'!" announced the landlord. "Say so. Say yo're lyin', yuh pup, or I'll pull yore neck in half."
"I'm lyin'!" cried the drummer, hastily. "I'm lyin'."
"There wasn't nobody here but you, was there?" inquired the landlord.
"N-no."
"I guess that's enough. You see how reliable this sport is, gents. Can't believe a word he says."
Block turned toward the door. The scratch-faced man winked at his own reflection in the mirror behind the bar and stuck his tongue in his cheek.
"C'mon," said Block.
The sheriff and his friend went out into the street. The landlord followed, his expression one of pleasurable anticipation. Four citizens of Rocket, grouped on the sidewalk, glumly watched the two men as they swung into their saddles and loped away. The landlord's face fell.
"Say," he demanded, "why didn't yuh arrest him?"