Tip laughed. Was the laughter forced? Billy thought it sounded as if it were. But he couldn't be sure. Not with Tip O'Gorman. For Tip was a good poker player. Still——
Billy wagged a forefinger at Tip. "Why didn't you tell Crafty, you careless child?"
"Crafty knew, all right," Tip stated. "He was just joking with you, I guess."
"I guess so too," drawled Billy Wingo. "I guess so too."
He stood up and started to walk casually toward the door.
"That will be about far enough," said Tip.
Billy's hands fell away from the latch. "If that gun goes off, it'll make a fine mess on the floor."
"You come back and sit on the bed again," directed Tip, the six-shooter trained unwaveringly on the captive's abdomen. "Of course," he added, "you might try the windows. But even if I didn't drill you three times where you live while you were doing it, you can't wiggle through those windows. Your shoulders are too broad and the sashes are too narrow. That's why we picked this room. Only one in the house with small windows."
"I'd noticed that," said Billy, returning to the bed. "How about a drink, Tip? I'm thirsty."
"Sam will get you a drink," said Tip.