"The more the merrier," grinned Riley Tyler. "Listen to that skunkified Reelfoot! You'd think he was having the horrors, the way he's carrying on."
"Did you hear what he said about leaving a lantern outside the cell all night, account of Tip haunting him in the dark?"
Riley nodded. "I heard. His nerve has gone completely bust."
"It's funny how he keeps insisting that Bill Wingo was with Guerilla and that Dawson man when they captured him. Why, everybody knows Bill Wingo is far, far away." Thus Shotgun Shillman, his tongue in his cheek.
"Damfunny," Riley assented with a wink. "Especially when Guerilla and Dawson said they hadn't seen a sign of Bill, not a sign. You might almost think Simon Reelfoot was mistaken."
"You might," chuckled Shotgun Shillman. "I wonder, speaking as man to man, and not as sheriff pro tem. to his deputy, where Bill is anyway."
"Probably in town this minute. It would be just like him."
"Guessin' thataway is bad business," Shotgun reproved Riley. "Besides, you're mistaken. If we thought Billy was in town, it would be our duty to hop out and arrest him, wouldn't it? You bet it would. So we don't think he's in town. That is certain sure. You wanna mix a li'l common sense with your job, Riley. You're too half-baked by a jugful. You keep on expressin' opinions so free and easy, and first thing you know folks will think we ain't so anxious to arrest Bill."
"Some of 'em think so now," said the unimpressed Riley.
"Ain't that the public all over!" exclaimed the justly indignant Shotgun. "Tell you, an honest officer of the law is never appreciated, never. Is that bottle empty, Riley?"