The judge's face wore a curiously mottled pallor that gave it the hue of a dead fish's belly. "Are you insane?" he gasped.
"Not me," denied Billy Wingo. "It's like I said. I'm gambling with you. I guess we understand each other, Judge. Ain't it luck, you and I being about of a size? Dressed up in my clothes with that white hat and all, you'd have to excuse anybody for mistaking you for me. Ca-a-areful, Judge, careful. Don't do anything we would be sorry for. And don't take it so to heart; perhaps he'll miss you."
For a space he considered the judge, then he said:
"I guess we're ready for Riley, now."
Despite his professional calm the judge almost bounced out of his chair. "Riley! Where——"
"In the kitchen with the door open," explained Billy. "He didn't go with Shotgun and Reelfoot a-tall—that is, not far. Only round the house to the back door. Reelfoot wasn't completely successful in separating me from my deputies. You didn't catch me whispering in Riley's ear while he was getting ready, did you? I thought maybe you wouldn't. Your back was turned. Moral: Never turn your back when there's a mirror behind you. Riley, you'd better come in now."
Whereupon there was a noise of bootheels, and Riley entered and smiled cheerfully upon the discomfited judge.
"Howdy, your honor," said Riley Tyler.
The judge made no acknowledgment of the greeting. He continued to gaze before him with a set and stony face.
"Riley," said Billy Wingo, without, however, removing his eyes from the judge, "I guess we'll need another witness. I wonder if you could get hold of Guerilla Melody."