Billy made his position plain. "Say ten thousand in round numbers."
"Ten thousand devils!"
"Not devils—dollars."
"You're crazy!"
"It's the least you can do," insisted Billy.
Tip O'Gorman made an odd noise in his throat. After making which, a dog would have bitten Mr. Wingo. Tip may have been a bad old man, but he was not a dog. He really dissembled his foamingly murderous rage very well indeed.
"I'll have to see the rest of the boys," said Tip O'Gorman, and he actually smiled.
"Why, no," contradicted Billy. "You won't. Why should you? Rafe and you are the dogs with the brass collars in Crocker County, and you wear more brass than Rafe, when you come right down to it. What you say usually goes without question."
"I never said ten thousand for a sheriff before," protested Tip.
"There's nothing like establishing a precedent. Don't be hidebound. This is the newer generation, and advanced age, you know; one that's advanced by jumps, if you could only be brought to realize it."