"What you gonna do about it?" Reelfoot wanted to know, fidgeting in his chair.
"You'll be taken care of now, you needn't to worry."
"Oh, fine, fi-ine. That helps a lot, that does, with either Bill Wingo or one of his deputies over to my place about every other day, snoopin' round and talking to my men."
"They do that, do they?"
"Yes, they do that."
"What of it?" demanded Rafe. "They can't find out anything, can they? You weren't fool enough to let on to your men—your foreman or anybody, were you?"
"Sure not. But——"
"But what?"
"I don't like 'em slouchin' round this way. You dunno what'll happen. They might find out somethin' you can't tell."
"If you didn't tell any of your men, you're safe," soothed the district attorney, "so long as you keep your upper lip stiff. You're just a li'l nervous, that's all, Simon. Nothing to worry you a-tall. Here, have another drink. Rafe, shove the bottle over, will you?"