Billy quieted the district attorney with a gesture that drove the man's head almost through the pillow.
"There goes your snap judgment again," complained Billy. "Shotgun and Riley are doing their duty. They've done their damndest to catch me. You hurt my feelings when you hint that I may be tampering with them. You don't really think I have, do you, Arthur? Both Shotgun and Riley are straight as strings, aren't they, Arthur?"
The gun muzzle pressed ever so gently upon Arthur's Adam's apple. "They are," he apologized. "Both of 'em."
"And you'll free the girl to-night?"
"To-night? Why not to-morrow?"
"To-night. I don't like her having to sleep in that calaboose. You let her out and tell Shotgun Shillman to take her to Sam Prescott's right away—right away, to-night, y'understand?"
"All right," capitulated the district attorney. "I'll do it if I lose my job. But you needn't go swarmin' off with any idea that you'll cheat the gallows. You'll swing, my bold boy, for that O'Gorman murder. There's nothing you can do to me that will fix up that business for you—not if you were to kill me here and now. Judge Donelson wouldn't allow me to withdraw that warrant, even I wanted to. The evidence is too strong."
"So you really think I downed Tip?" Billy asked curiously.
"I know it."
"And held up the stage? Unofficially, Arthur, are you holding that against me, too?"