"Not by a jugful it ain't. Gimme the bottle."
Rafe poured out a stiff four fingers. He drank it slowly. Then he had
another. His eyes began to gleam redly. Suddenly he stood up and
struck the table with his fist.
"I'll show 'em," he exclaimed. "Tip needn't think he can gimme orders!
Won't let you ship cows if you get your leg over the pole again, says
O'Gorman, Larder and Craft. Just as if I'd done something out of the
way instead of tryin' to put one more polecat out of the world. I'll
show 'em! Say, Arthur, whatsa matter with buckin' Larder and Craft
after we put Tip out of business?"
"Wait till we do," replied the district attorney, who foresaw many
difficulties in the proposed operation. "And if you ask me, I don't
know how we're going to do it."
Rafe Tuckleton scratched a tousled head. "Jonesy might shoot him
cleaning' his gun," he proffered.
"Why don't you do it yourself?"
Rafe showed the requisite amount of contempt for such a foolish
question. "It's more'n possible Tip might start cleanin' his own gun
about that time. And I _could_ spare Jonesy if I had to."
"Jonesy might not want to take the chance. You haven't thought of
that, have you?"
Rafe, by way of reply, took another drink. When he set the bottle
down, the district attorney picked it up, held it against the daylight,
then looked reproachfully at his friend and put the bottle away in the
cupboard.
"Tell you what we can do," said Rafe. "We can have Simon do it."
"Simon Reelfoot?"
"Who else. Sure. Why not?"
"You're crazy. Simon may be a fool, but he has more sense than that."
"Simon drinks a skinful sometimes. Ever see him when he gets that way?
He acts very rowdy. Yeah. I'm almost certain if, when Simon was under
the influence thataway, he was told that Tip had found out about his
share in the Walton killing and was making threats against him, that
Friend Simon would just naturally hop out and fill Tip full of holes."
"But I thought you were saving Simon for Wingo? The sheriff's more
important than Tip just now."
It was evident that the district attorney was becoming more and more
worried at the prospect of giving Tip his quietus.
"We'll have to figure out something else for Wingo," said Rafe. Then
he brought his open palm down on his knee with a crack like a pistol
shot. The district attorney jumped in his chair. "I got it!" cried
Rafe. "I got it! It just came to me when you said 'Wingo.' We'll get
the three of 'em at one lick."
"I knew I didn't put that bottle away soon enough."
"Rats. My head's clear as a bell--two bells, by Gawd! Listen. We'll
get Simon and that foreman of his drunk. We'll sick the pair of 'em on
Tip O'Gorman. They'll put the kibosh on Tip, and the word will be
passed for the sheriff. He will go to make the arrest and they'll plug
him. Being drunk, they'll be desperate and won't care what they do."
"Suppose the deputies go with Bill?"
"We'll have to fix it so they won't. Oh, it'll be natural this time.
We'll wait till they're taking somebody over to Hillsville, or gone to
make an arrest or something."
"But the sheriff may swear in a posse to help chase 'em."
"There won't be any chase. For a chase you gotta have horses, and
we'll take away their horses first thing. No, it's a cinch Bill Wingo
will go to arrest 'em by his lonesome. He's that kind."
"And we took him for a mark," was the district attorney's bitter remark.
"I didn't," lied Rafe. "I always knowed what he was."
The district attorney did not contradict this statement. Nothing was
to be gained by a fight with Rafe Tuckleton.