Part 49 (1/2)

Billy wagged a forefinger at Tip. ”Why didn't you tell Crafty, you careless child?”

”Crafty knew, all right,” Tip stated. ”He was just joking with you, I guess.”

”I guess so too,” drawled Billy Wingo. ”I guess so too.”

He stood up and started to walk casually toward the door.

”That will be about far enough,” said Tip.

Billy's hands fell away from the latch. ”If that gun goes off, it'll make a fine mess on the floor.”

”You come back and sit on the bed again,” directed Tip, the six-shooter trained unwaveringly on the captive's abdomen. ”Of course,” he added, ”you might try the windows. But even if I didn't drill you three times where you live while you were doing it, you can't wiggle through those windows. Your shoulders are too broad and the sashes are too narrow.

That's why we picked this room. Only one in the house with small windows.”

”I'd noticed that,” said Billy, returning to the bed. ”How about a drink, Tip? I'm thirsty.”

”Sam will get you a drink,” said Tip.

Billy smiled. ”Why not you? Can't you trust me with Sam? Think I'll corrupt his morals or something?”

”There's no telling what you'll do, Bill, and as I may have told you once or twice we can't afford to take any chances.”

”When am I going to be arrested for rustling one of Sam's horses?”

”Soon after Crafty gets here.”

Billy's face a.s.sumed a peevish expression. ”Say, look here, Tip, I don't just cotton to the idea of havin' Sam the one to throw down on me and hold me up. I've got my pride, such as it is, and I'd hate for folks to go round blatting that a slow-pulling sport like Sam Larder held me up. Can't you make it yourself, Tip? You've got a reputation.

I dunno that I'd feel so bad about it if it was you.”

”Shucks, Bill, you're too sensitive. I'm afraid we'll have to let the scheme go through as it lays. I don't believe in changing any part of a plan once I've started to carry it out.”

”There's something in that,” admitted Billy. ”I'm a li'l superst.i.tious that way myself. Ain't Sam taking a goshawful time to that drink?

Maybe you better step out and look for him.”

Tip grinned. ”I hear him comin' now.”

”Sam,” said Billy, when the owner of the house appeared with the drink, ”Sam, how about a li'l hot something to eat? I know it's only the shank of the afternoon, but I'm hungry and I probably have a long hard night ahead of me.”

”You have, all right,” concurred Sam. ”All your own fault, too. But I expect you know what's best.”

Sam eased his fat self into a chair and began to construct a cigarette.

Billy elevated his eyebrows. ”Say. I thought I asked you for something to eat?”

Sam ran his tongue along the side of the cigarette. ”I heard you, but I don't cook a thing till supper. That's flat. I been in and out of that kitchen all day, and I've got enough, you bet you.”

”You don't have to cook anythin' yourself. Let your cook do it.”

”I let him go to town for the day.”

”I don't s'pose you could persuade one of your boys to throw a li'l bite together for me, now, could you?”