I don't want to hurt you--but seems like I've kinda
got the habit. You'll have to excuse me." He hunched his shoulders at
the chill of the morning and walked around the jail, inspecting it with
half-hearted interest.
"What is this, anyway?" he inquired of Tom. "Smoke-house?"
"It's a jail," snapped Tom. "To put you into if you don't watch your
dodgers. What 'n thunder you want to carry on like you did last night,
for? And then go and sober up just when we've got a jail built to put
you into! That ain't no way for a man to do--I'll leave it to Bill if it
is! I've a darned good mind to swear out a warrant, anyway, Ford, and
pinch you for disturbin' the peace! That's what I ought to do, all
right." Tom beat his hands about his body and glared at Ford with his
ultra-official scowl.
"All right, if you want to do it." Ford's tone embellished the reply
with a you-take-the-consequences sort of indifference. "Only, I'd advise
you never to turn me loose again if you do lock me up in this coop
once."
"I know I wouldn't uh worked all night on the thing if I'd knowed you
was goin' to sleep it off," Bill complained, with deep reproach in his
watery eyes.
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