"But not as deep as you are already," said Billy Wingo, with an even colder smile. "You haven't answered my question yet—about the burning of the letter. Why, Judge, why?"
"Give it any name you like," replied the jurist carelessly. "I don't feel like answering any more questions."
"Yet a li'l while back you didn't mind answering any questions I felt like asking. Was it to gain time, Judge—to gain time till Skinny Shindle came in and did his part with the note from Miss Walton? Was it, Judge, was it? Dumb, huh? Aw right, perhaps you'd rather tell me why Simon Reelfoot acted about the same way, except Simon was special careful to make us mad besides—mad when it wasn't necessary to make us mad if Simon was playing a straight game, but necessary enough if Simon wanted to gain more time. Yeah, Simon sure beat around the bush time and again before he came to the point. I expect you were delayed getting here, huh, Judge? Simon kept looking out of the window alla time, I remember."
Billy Wingo felt silent and contemplated the judge. The latter stared back, his face impassive.
"Be advised," said the judge suddenly. "You can't buck us alone. You should know that."
"I should—maybe," returned Billy Wingo. "But I feel like taking a gamble with you. So instead of going to Kilroe's, we'll do what the letter said and go out to Walton's to-day."
The judge lifted his eyebrows. "We?"
"We," confirmed Billy calmly. "You're going with me."
"No," said the judge.
"Yes," insisted Billy Wingo. "And what's more, I'll lend you a suit of my clothes and my white hat and my red-and-white pinto. Which there ain't another paint pony colored like mine in this county; and just to make it a fair deal, I'll wear your buffalo coat and your fur cap, and I'll ride one of your horses,—that long-legged gray, I guess, will be all right."