"He's comin' around," said Shotgun Shillman. "You shot too high, Bill. Y'ought to held lower, and you'd drilled his heart or anyway, a lung. Now he'll be a invalid nuisance for a while, like Rale."
"If I'd known you'd be so upset about it, I'd obliged you, Shotgun," returned Billy sarcastically. "As a matter of fact, I wanted both of 'em alive. You can't try dead men.
"That's so," assented Shotgun. "But what a waste of time, when— Oh, all right, all right, Bill. Have it your own way. You're the dog with the brass collar, even if you do have to sleep in the jail till the warrants against you are annulled."
"What's Jack trying to do?" Riley Tyler asked. "Here, take that out of your mouth!"
It was Billy who reached Jack Murray first. He snatched the wadded ball of paper from Jack before he could close his teeth over it. Jack groaned.
"I didn't mean to hurt you," apologized Billy. "But I had to grab your jaw. You were so quick."
"You didn't hurt me," snarled Jack Murray. "It was somethin' else."
"What is the thing?" queried Guerilla Melody.
Billy smoothed out the crumpled wad. It appeared to be a letter and a promissory note.
"I forbid you to read that!" cried the district attorney, attempting to drag himself across the floor toward Billy. "That letter is personal and my private property!"