"Huh," snorted Tip O'Gorman, "what does that prove?"
"It proves that it's better to be the bear than Benjy. At least, that's the way it looks to a man up a tree. I made up my mind some time ago that if I got tangled up in a situation like that I'd be the bear and not Benjy."
Tip O'Gorman stared with an odd expression at Billy Wingo. "You have changed," he remarked with conviction. "I wonder——"
"Give it a name," begged Billy, when Tip failed to complete the sentence.
Mr. O'Gorman shook his bullet head. "No, I got other fish to fry."
He got up heavily and began to pull on his overcoat.
When he was gone, Billy Wingo crossed the room unhurriedly and barred the door. He threw a quick glance at the blankets nailed across the windows ostensibly to keep out the drafts. All tight. No one could look in.
"All right, boys," he said in a conversational tone. "You can come out now."
The door of an inner room opened. Two men emerged. One was a long, lean citizen with a long, lean face barred by a heavy grizzled mustache. The other was shorter, of equally lean build, and considerably younger. The older man was Shotgun Shillman, the younger was Riley Tyler.
In Riley's hand was a thin block of paper. A pencil stuck up behind his ear.