"I know all rur-right," vaguely.
This was maddening. Billy, in the other room, yearned to take Jerry Fern by the scruff of his drunken neck and squeeze the truth out of him.
"You don't know a thing about Felix Craft," persisted Guerilla. "Not a thing."
"Damn shame he don't pay you enough," chipped in Dawson.
"Maybe if I went to him I could get more money for you," suggested Guerilla. He waited a moment for the meaning of this to sink in before adding, "What will I tell him."
"Tut-tell him I'll tell if he dud-don't pup-pay."
This sounded promising. "Tell what?"
"Tut-tell whuh-who held up the sush-sush-stage."
"Oh, that's nothing," said Guerilla. "Felix told me all about that. He said you didn't help him out a-tall."
Jerry Fern was instantly up in arms. "I dud-did so," he chattered. "He knows bub-better. Did-didn't he plan it all out wuh-with mum-me nun-nun-not to cuc-cuc-cut down on him, and didn't I tut-tell the pup-passengers to muh-make sure of Bub-bill's clothes and the bub-brass gug-gug-guard of his six-shu-shooter? Did-didn't I? Did-didn't I? Yeah, and his huh-horse and all too? Dud-didn't I do all them thuh-things acc-acc-accordin' to cuc-contract? Did-didn't I? Cuc-course I did. And if Fuf-felix do-don't pay up, I'll pup-put him in jail."