"Tip," said Billy, "that man is threatening me again. You stop him. He makes me nervous. Sometimes I almost think he means it."
"I'm afraid he does mean it," said Tip. "I—we don't want to do you any harm, Bill, physically or otherwise. You understand, that, don't you?"
"Seein' that you keep on tellin' me so over and over, I'll try and believe it. But what I want to know is if you decide finally to do me harm, physically or otherwise, what kind of harm you'll do. Will you drop me over the cliff on a dark and moonlight night and dash my quiverin' body to death on the cruel rocks below, or will you slip a li'l wolf poison into my morning coffee, or will you just cut my throat or what? I'd like to know. Honest, I would. My curiosity is standin' on its hind legs."
"It's no joke," Tip told him seriously.
"Of course it ain't. Who said it was. Not me. I'm serious as lead in your lung. Likewise I'm scared to death. If I was standin' up you'd hear my knees clacking together. Not to disappoint you I'll shake the bed. There! How's that?"
He grinned at them disarmingly. They did not return the grin.
"Might as well tell him now," suggested Craft.
Tip nodded. "I was going to. Bill, you left your office in Golden Bar last night." He paused, looking up at the ceiling.
"You needn't try to make me think you're making it up as you go along," Billy fleered with a wink. "I know better. Flap along, flap along."
"You took your rifle with you and both your guns," resumed Tip. "You went to the stable and saddled your red-and-white pinto and rode out of town."