Billy smiled. "Why not you? Can't you trust me with Sam? Think I'll corrupt his morals or something?"
"There's no telling what you'll do, Bill, and as I may have told you once or twice we can't afford to take any chances."
"When am I going to be arrested for rustling one of Sam's horses?"
"Soon after Crafty gets here."
Billy's face assumed a peevish expression. "Say, look here, Tip, I don't just cotton to the idea of havin' Sam the one to throw down on me and hold me up. I've got my pride, such as it is, and I'd hate for folks to go round blatting that a slow-pulling sport like Sam Larder held me up. Can't you make it yourself, Tip? You've got a reputation. I dunno that I'd feel so bad about it if it was you."
"Shucks, Bill, you're too sensitive. I'm afraid we'll have to let the scheme go through as it lays. I don't believe in changing any part of a plan once I've started to carry it out."
"There's something in that," admitted Billy. "I'm a li'l superstitious that way myself. Ain't Sam taking a goshawful time to that drink? Maybe you better step out and look for him."
Tip grinned. "I hear him comin' now."
"Sam," said Billy, when the owner of the house appeared with the drink, "Sam, how about a li'l hot something to eat? I know it's only the shank of the afternoon, but I'm hungry and I probably have a long hard night ahead of me."
"You have, all right," concurred Sam. "All your own fault, too. But I expect you know what's best."