"Tut-tell whuh-who held up the sush-sush-stage."
"Oh, that's nothing," said Guerilla. "Felix told me all about that.
He said you didn't help him out a-tall."
Jerry Fern was instantly up in arms. "I dud-did so," he chattered.
"He knows bub-better. Did-didn't he plan it all out wuh-with mum-me
nun-nun-not to cuc-cuc-cut down on him, and didn't I tut-tell the
pup-passengers to muh-make sure of Bub-bill's clothes and the bub-brass
gug-gug-guard of his six-shu-shooter? Did-didn't I? Did-didn't I?
Yeah, and his huh-horse and all too? Dud-didn't I do all them
thuh-things acc-acc-accordin' to cuc-contract? Did-didn't I?
Cuc-course I did. And if Fuf-felix do-don't pay up, I'll pup-put him
in jail."
"That's right," Guerilla soothed him. "Do anything you want with him."
He went to the door of the other room and whispered, "Has he said
enough, Bill?"
"About," answered Billy, pushing his chair back and standing up.
"But maybe he won't repeat it under oath when he's sober," worried
Guerilla.
"We won't wait that long. We'll sic him on Felix right now. You go
find out where Felix is, will you, Guerilla, and-- Here, wait a shake!
Better have Shotgun Shillman and Riley Tyler in on this. Huh? Course
not! Don't tell 'em I'm here. Tell 'em----"