"Why—uh—uh——" stalled the district attorney.
"Tell me," persisted Judge Donelson, "exactly what you think?"
But the district attorney did not dare tell Judge Donelson anything like that. Instead he said, with a smile he strove to make natural and pleasant:
"Hold Mr. Wingo? Certainly not. I have misjudged him. I am sure he will not bear malice against me."
"Hold it against Mr. Rale?" said Billy, with the straightest face in the world. "Certainly not. I have misjudged him. But I am sure he will not bear malice against me."
Even the judge smiled.
Dan Slike, lying on an improvised bed of blankets in the corner of the room, raised his head. "You'll never hang me, y'understand," said Dan Slike. "And you ain't got a jail in the territory big enough to hold me after I get shut of these scratches. I'll see you later, Sheriff."
Dan Slike added a curse or two and relapsed into silence. Not a likable person, Mr. Slike. No, not at all.
"This," said Rafe Tuckleton, "is a helluva note."
"It's all your fault," the district attorney recriminated bitterly.