"I didn't see this one, and besides Riley ain't been killed, and no complaint has been made," defended the marshal, who was no logician. "But where a feller says he's gonna attend to somebody, that shows premeditation and malice aforethought, which both of 'em is against the statute as made and provided in such cases."
"How you do run on," commented Billy.
But the Red Herring lacked a sense of humor. Heavy of soul, he frowned heavily at Billy.
"You go slow," was his fishy advice.
"Be careful and otherwise refrain from violence," observed Billy, whose English became better as his temper grew worse. "I grasp your point of view," he added gravely. "But I don't like it. Not for a minute I don't. I'll do as I think best. I'd rather, really."
"Don't you go startin' nothin' you can't finish," said the marshal, lost in a maze of words. "I don't want to have to arrest you."
"I don't want you to have to either," Billy averred warmly. "Arrestin' me would surely interfere with my plans. Yeah."
"A sheriff-elect had oughta set a good example," argued the marshal.
Riley Tyler rolled his head from side to side. He muttered incoherently. The men about the cot turned to look down at him. Then he said, speaking distinctly:
"He shot me after I was down."