He got up heavily and began to pull on his overcoat.
When he was gone, Billy Wingo crossed the room unhurriedly and barred
the door. He threw a quick glance at the blankets nailed across the
windows ostensibly to keep out the drafts. All tight. No one could
look in.
"All right, boys," he said in a conversational tone. "You can come out
now."
The door of an inner room opened. Two men emerged. One was a long,
lean citizen with a long, lean face barred by a heavy grizzled
mustache. The other was shorter, of equally lean build, and
considerably younger. The older man was Shotgun Shillman, the younger
was Riley Tyler.
In Riley's hand was a thin block of paper. A pencil stuck up behind
his ear.
"Did you get it all?" queried Billy, sitting down in his chair and
hunching it close to the table.
"Most of it," Riley replied. "All the important part, especially where
he tried to buy you up. Gee, you've got him now. Send him over the
road any time."
"But it's only Tip," said Billy, taking the block of paper from Riley
and riffling through the scribbled leaves.
"Arresting him would sure throw a heap scare into the others," Riley
grinned.
"And that is what I want to avoid," said Billy. "There's no use in
scaring off the flock by downing one bird. We'll just file away Tip
O'Gorman's remarks for future reference. We can afford to wait.
Where's that Bible? I'll swear you boys in right away."