The two rich men were speechless. But only for a moment.
"Two thousand!" gasped Rafe. "Not a nickel."
"Not a thin dime!" contradicted the district attorney.
"Say not so!" said Billy Wingo.
Tip O'Gorman nodded. "'Say not so,' is right."
Billy looked at the speaker approvingly. "I'm glad Tip agrees with me. I'll take the money in gold, greenbacks and silver. No drafts."
The district attorney squealed like a stuck pig. "No nothing, you mean! Whadda you think we are?"
"A couple of rascals," was the prompt reply. "And there's a tax on rascals. That li'l girl has got to be taken care of."
Billy's voice was earnest. But a sardonic devil looked out of his eyes. He yearned with a great yearning for the district attorney and Rafe Tuckleton to join battle with him. He knew that he could easily take care of both. Tip O'Gorman was the unknown quantity. One could never be quite sure what Tip was thinking. One thing, Tip was neither a murderer nor a dealer in murder. That had never been Tip's way. And something told Billy that in the present crisis Tip would keep his hands off. The issue lay strictly between Rafe, the district attorney and Billy Wingo.
The district attorney by a great effort recovered his mental balance. "You are threatening," he bumbled lamely.