Part 48 (1/2)

”Mask won't disguise your voice any.”

”I'll talk like I had a cold. Oh, I won't have any trouble making folks think it's you.”

Felix Craft spoke with tremendous confidence. More than the occasion warranted, thought Billy Wingo.

”Why don't you wear my star?” suggested Bill. ”Then folks would sure think it was me.”

”Too raw, and you know it. Even you wouldn't do a fool thing like that.”

”Thanks for the compliment,” Billy said humbly. ”Suppose now you get plugged, Felix?”

”I won't get plugged. Not me,” declared Craft, pulling the six-shooter with the bra.s.s trigger guard and making sure that the hammer rested on an empty chamber.

”What makes you think you won't be plugged?” persisted Billy.

Craft darted a quick look at his questioner. ”Because I know I won't.

I'll have the drop on 'em, don't you see? n.o.body will dare cut down on me.”

”How do you know they won't?”

”I'm sure, that's all.”

”What makes you so sure?”

”Because I am, that's why!” was the snappish reply. Then in a pleasanter tone Craft continued, ”Because, Bill, I've figured out my chances carefully. Not once in a thousand times do stage pa.s.sengers resist a road agent.”

”How about the Wells-Fargo guard?”

”He ain't riding this trip.”

”How do you know he ain't?”

”Now don't you worry how we know, Bill. We know, and you can bet on that. It's like I told you, we've figured this thing out to the last li'l detail. We----”

”You bet we have,” cut in Tip quickly. ”For the last time, Bill, hadn't you better change your mind?”

”I couldn't change it for the last time till I'd changed it at least two other times, Tip,” Billy drawled, one-half his brain busy trying to fathom why Tip should have interrupted Craft so brusquely. Tip never did anything without reason. Never. And why was Craft so unnaturally sure that he could hold up the stage without being shot? Unnaturally, exactly. Because Felix Craft was one not given to explaining anything he did. Yet in this instance he had taken the trouble to explain at some length. Why?

Billy tilted back on the rear legs of his chair, c.o.c.ked his heels up on the table and stared at the ceiling.

”Well, how about it?” Tip demanded impatiently. ”You going to be sensible?”

Billy waved a hand for silence and then sang in a whining bobtail ba.s.s:

”Barney Bodkin broke his nose: Want of money makes us sad; Without feet we can't have toes; Crazy folks are always mad; A nickel candle's very small; Many fiddlers can't play jigs; One that's dumb can never bawl; Pickled pork is made of pigs.

”Ain't that a nice song?” Billy broke off, glancing round him for praise. ”Lot of truth in that song, too. Especially that part about crazy folks. They always are mad--like you and Felix, Tip, and our fat friend, Mr. Samuel Larder. Why all the delay, Felix? If you really are gonna to be a bold bad man, go'n and be one. Don't dally round here any longer. Suppose you miss the stage? You'd be disappointed.

So would I. Because I don't want anything to prevent you from having a fair crack at it. I'd like you to have every chance--but I forgot, you ain't taking any chances, are you? This is a sure thing.”

Billy, through half-shut eyes, was watching the men he was talking to.