Tip held up an arresting hand. "Don't joke," he said. "I realize what the blessed age is doing, but doubling the ante this way is more than a jump—it's a mighty wild leap."
"It can be done," Billy said placidly. "What are impossibilities to-day become realities to-morrow. Q.E.D. P.D.Q."
Tip O'Gorman raised plump hands to the level of his ears. "I didn't think when I proposed you for sheriff," he remarked earnestly, "that I was proposing a road agent too. Oh, you burglar! I do admire a hawg. Yes, sir. But what can a feller do? Ten thousand goes. About those deputies—I don't suppose you'll have any objections, now that you've got what you want, to appointing Johnson and Kenealy?"
"Oh, yes, indeed I have—plenty. No Johnson and no Kenealy. Shillman and Tyler. Yes."
"No. You've got to earn that ten thousand."
"Bribery and corruption, Tip, is a serious crime."
"Bosh! You listen to me, young feller. We're buying you, body, soul and roll, with that ten thousand cases! You've got to do as we say. Hells bells, what do you think you are?"
"A stranger in a strange land. Damn strange, too. Tip, you're an old scoundrel!"
Tip O'Gorman's hand halted half-way to his armpit.
"No, no, Tip, not that," Billy warned him, keeping turned on the other man's stomach the gun that had suddenly appeared from nowhere. "Don't turn rusty in here. The carpet is new and so is the furniture. Go a li'l slow, or a li'l slower, whichever appeals to you."