"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.

He was watching Sam Larder especially. For Sam was not a good poker player. Never had been. His plump features were too expressive. And now the open-faced Sam was looking at Billy with a slightly worried expression. Furthermore, the worry was tinged with some astonishment.

At least, so it seemed to Billy. Again why?

Here were three men, each of whom within five minutes had done that which was not wholly warranted by the apparent facts. He again had cropped up and out those unnatural circ.u.mstances so ably dwelt upon by Mr. William Noy. As has been said, the law abhors such things and seeks a remedy. There is always a remedy; and investigation, patient and thorough, will always find it. Billy rather prided himself on being a patient and thorough investigator.

Nevertheless he did not fail to realize that he was in a tight hole.

He felt the pinch already. So he smiled at the three men his sunniest smile.

"Looks like a wild night on the ca.n.a.l," he said calmly. "I expect the mules are pinning back their ears. Yeah. Going, Crafty? Well, be good and--oh, say, Crafty, ain't Jerry Fern the stage driver this trip?"

"I don't know," was the short reply.

"But you knew everything else," complained Billy, making a mental note of another unnatural circ.u.mstance. "Seems like you'd oughta know this, too."

"Well, I don't," Craft tossed back over his shoulder, as he flung out of the house.

The door slammed. Billy looked at Sam Larder and grinned. "If this is Jerry Fern's trip, and I'm most sure it is, Felix will be out of luck.

Jerry is one stage driver who will always give a bandit a battle."

"Oh, I guess Crafty will get the drop on him all right," Sam Larder averred easily,--too easily by half.

"I can see," said Billy with strange placidity, "I can see that I've got to get out of here."

Both Sam and Tip laughed,--Tip heartily, Sam with a false note.

"Well, anyway," resumed Billy, "I've got my choice of hitting the trail or being arrested."

Tip shook his head. "You haven't any choice--none."

"Huh?" Surprisedly.

"Yeah. You see, we talked it over again while you were asleep a while back, and we decided if you couldn't see our way of it and be sensible like we want, that we'd better just put you where you won't be mislaid.

Givin' you your choice of ridin' away or bein' arrested like I said at first would be a bad move. If you chose to hit the trail-- You're a sport with ideas, Bill, and you might think up one to put the kybosh on us. But if you're in jail, your ideas won't help you much. See?"

"I see I ain't gonna get a chance for my alley a-tall. Who'll arrest me--my own deputies?"

"No, we'll do that. Here's the story: Your horse gave out and Sam caught you trying to rustle a pony out of his corral. Sam threw down on you, held you up and when we, Sam, Crafty and I, y'understand searched you, we found on you a couple of pocketbooks and Jerry Fern's watch. See?"

"I see, all right. I see you haven't been quite open with our friend Mr. Craft."

"How do you make that out?"

Billy hunched his shoulders. He was observing the marked unease that spread upon the countenance of Sam Larder. Tip was forced to repeat his question.

Billy gazed at him vacantly. "Huh? How--uh--oh, you want to know how, do you? Is that it? Yeah. Well, I'll tell you. Here you knew alla time that Jerry Fern was going to drive the stage this trip and yet you didn't tell Crafty. He didn't know who was the driver when I asked him, remember? You should have told him, Tip. Skin game not to."

Tip laughed. Was the laughter forced? Billy thought it sounded as if it were. But he couldn't be sure. Not with Tip O'Gorman. For Tip was a good poker player. Still----