"I almost wish it was somebody else," he said whimsically. "Shotgun is a friend of mine, and energetic as a bear with a bee tree. He'll maybe dump me before I do what I want."
"If he's a friend of yours——" hinted Dawson.
"He'd arrest his own brother, if there was a warrant issued against him. He's that kind."
"A conscience is a heavy load to pack," said the cynical Dawson. "Me, I believe the end justifies the means. It don't matter much what trail you follow, so you get there. Can I help you any?"
"How?"
"I dunno—any old way. You did me one good turn, and I'm not forgetting it. Anything I got you can have any time anywhere."
"Now, that's right clever of you," said Billy, somewhat embarrassed at the other's gratitude. "But I don't guess you can help me any."
"Try me," urged Dawson.
"The man who killed Tuckleton is a man named Dan Slike, who broke out of jail just before he was going to be tried for another murder. The only way you can help me is by telling me where he is, and I expect you can't do that."
"Not right off the reel," admitted Dawson. "Ain't you picked up any trail of this sport?"