Billy looked pained. "Our long-faced li'l playmate seems all fussed up over something. Well, boys will be boys, I suppose, and burned fingers now and then have got to be expected."
He paused and regarded them gravely. Rafe's answering stare was darkling, the district attorney's uncomfortable, while Tip's was impersonal.
"I hope you boys are feeling generous to-night," resumed Billy.
Rafe Tuckleton stole a glance at O'Gorman. Generous?
"The fact is," went on the calm voice, "I'm takin' up a collection—a collection for Tom Walton's niece, Hazel."
Billy thought that at the mention of the ranchman's name both the district attorney and Tuckleton stiffened their slouching bodies, but he could not be positive. The lamp on the table gave a poor, weak light.
"Her uncle's gettin' downed thisaway will be a bad blow for her. He was all she had. Y'understand now—the girl won't ever know that this is any benefit like. She mustn't ever know. It's insurance on Tom's life, see? Sam Prescott was keepin' the policy for him in his safe. Tom must have forgot to tell her about it. That's what Sam's going to tell her. How much will you boys give?"
Tip O'Gorman did not hesitate. "You can put us down for a thousand apiece."
"What!" chorused the district attorney and Rafe Tuckleton.
The sheriff cocked an eyebrow at the two men. "You think it's too little? Well, I guess maybe you're right. A thousand is enough for Tip here, but you two are rich men. Say twice that—two thousand from each of you will be about right."