"You're marshal," pointed out Nate. "You can't leave town."
"I ain't supposed to work all night—only day-times and part of the evening. It's a cinch Bill won't make any social calls in daylight and it's a cinch the distance from town to Walton's won't tire me out like it has you."
"Putting it that way," said Nate, suddenly perceiving an opportunity to make a little easy money, "putting it that way, maybe I'll go too."
"It ain't necessary," protested the marshal, alarmed at the bare thought of dividing a profit. "I can manage it myself."
"I'll help you, though."
"Look here, whose scheme is this, huh?"
"You may have thought of it," conceded Nate, "but she was my girl first, and I got as much right to go out there again and see her as you have, and I got as much right to that two thousand dollars as you have."
The marshal swore frankly. "I'll never tell you anything again. Taking advantage of a feller this way. I thought you were my friend."
"I am. We'll go out together, huh?"
"We will not," contradicted the marshal. "So you can just as well stop stretching your mouth about it."