"Or I can ride back to Golden Bar and be arrested by my own deputies for stage robbery. I don't suppose anybody would believe it if I said I was kidnapped."
Tip smiled slightly. "They might. You never can tell what people would believe."
Billy drew his knees up to the level of his chin and hugged them.
"No," he drawled, "too fishy. Folks don't kidnap folks nowadays—only in books. Shucks, I'll bet you fellers were counting on just that particular snag in human nature. Looks like you've got me, don't it?"
Tip nodded his head. "Looks like it."
"You've only got yourself to blame," said Felix Craft, studying the gun on the table so handy to his fingers.
"True," acquiesced Billy. "I've only got myself to blame. So what care I for poverty or precious stones? Look here, fellow citizens, who is going to take my part in this stage hold-up?"
"I will," said Craft modestly. "I rode your pinto out of town last night, and I think I made a good impression. Yeah, I'm sure I did. And I have more than a sneaking idea I can get away with the hold-up."
"Don't doubt it," said Billy. "Don't doubt it for a minute. You've got nerve enough, I know that, and we're about of a size. I—uh—I thought there was something familiar about that vest you're wearing. And are those my other pants you have on? The table hides 'em so I can't tell for sure."
"They are your other pants, and your coat and hat are hanging on a hook in the kitchen. I had to put your spurs on my boots though. Yours were too small."