"Both of you, for instance," Reelfoot informed him.
"You do us a grave injustice." Thus the district attorney solemnly.
Rafe Tuckleton shook his head at Simon. "Wrong tree. You don't know anything about us."
Simon Reelfoot gaped at both of them. "Why, we fixed it up between us. You know we did. You even wanted two cows killed so's to make it look lifelike to the deputies."
Rafe looked at the district attorney. "The man's mad."
Simon's teeth snapped together like a cornered coyote. "If you're trying to put this thing all off on me—" he began, and stopped.
"We're not trying to put anything off on you," the district attorney told him silkily. "There's nothing to put off on you anyway. Not a thing. You're nervous, that's all, Simon. Your imagination is working overtime."
"Sure is," corroborated Rafe. "You don't think we've got anything to do with the murder of Tom Walton, do you, Simon?"
The Reelfoot jaw dropped. The man stared helplessly at Rafe and the district attorney. "Whatell did— Say, what else was all that rigamarole for then?"
"What rigamarole?" Oh, so patient was the voice of Rafe Tuckleton.