The Rider of Golden Bar Part 26

"Free hand? Of course, of course." Tip was beginning to find the atmosphere oppressive. He pa.s.sed a handkerchief across his beaded brow.

Observing which, Billy said affectionately, "It is hot in here. Shall I open a window?"

"Nemmine a window," Tip said. "Think a shake, Bill. Is it wise?"

"Wise?"

"You know what I mean."

"Not I," denied the cheerful Bill.

"You can't buck the party."

"There ain't no such word, but just for the sake of argument, why can't I?"

"It has been done, but----"

"Where are the snows of yesteryear, huh?"

Tip nodded. "Something like that."

"If I don't appoint your men and do appoint mine, what particular form of devilment would the party feel called upon to put on me?"

"Devilment," grinned Tip. "You don't know us."

"Backward and forward, sideways and from the bottom up. Don't you fool yourself I don't know you. I been looking over the situation a long time. It's been a liberal education."

"So that's it," murmured Tip. "Driver told me, but I didn't believe him."

"The judge sometimes tells the truth."

Tip O'Gorman sighed. He thought he saw what he would have to do. And he didn't want to do it. It meant one more mouth to feed, and one more finger in the pie.

"You understand, Bill," said he, "that it was always intended you should have your share."

"Nothing was ever said to me about any share," said Billy truthfully.

"We occasionally prefer to leave something to the imagination."

"It beats leaving it to the taxpayer," smiled Billy.

"Sure, sure."

"But my share you were speaking of, Tip," prompted Bill. "What is this share--large, small or indifferent?"

"That depends," replied O'Gorman cadgily.

"On the weather, or some one's generosity?"

Was there mirth or something sinister in the gray eyes? Tip O'Gorman couldn't be sure. But Lord, there was no cause for apprehension. He'd been making himself unnecessary worry. Bill Wingo was too easy-going and good-natured to hold out on the boys. He was just making a play for his legitimate share. That was only right. Not that Tip had intended in the beginning that Bill should have his legitimate share.

These politicians!

"You see, Bill, it's thisaway," said Tip. "Some years the party makes more than other years, and----"

"And the years it makes the most," insisted Bill, "are the years I make the most. Is that it?"

"You get the general idea."

"But not the general idea of what I get," persisted the strangely obtuse sheriff. "What is the minimum I can expect?"

Tip did not relish being pinned down to cases in this fashion. He preferred generalities.

"The minimum," repeated Tip.

"And the maximum," suggested Bill. "I might as well know all the horrible details."

"From three to five thousand dollars," said Tip, watching his _vis-a-vis_ closely.

Said _vis-a-vis_ looked disappointed. "Small change," he remarked coldly. "Who gets the other nickle?"

"Your salary is two thousand," Tip told him reproachfully, "and three to five thousand above that makes five to seven thousand. What more do you want?"

"Whatever's right," declared the amazing Mr. Wingo.

"That's right--what I told you."

"What did the last sheriff get?"

"I told you it varied."

"I know you told me. Tell me again."

Tip O'Gorman shifted his position in the chair. He was being baited.

He realized it now. A slow anger rose in his breast. But an admixture of dismay in the anger kept it from boiling over.

He continued to temporize. "Your slice will be worth while, well worth while. Leave it to us. You can trust me."

"Can I? I wonder."

"Meaning?" O'Gorman's face was cold as his heart was hot.

"I wonder. I do it now and then. Habit, I suppose. No harm in it, is there?"

"Lookit here, you don't doubt me, do you?"

"Unhand me, Jack Dalton! I may be poor--I may starve to death, but I will never be an old man's plaything. Better death than dishonor-rur-rur. Don't be so melodramatic, Tip. Who am I to doubt you? You? What a question!"

The fingers with which Billy Wingo then proceeded to make a cigarette were steady and sure in every movement. Billy licked the length of the white roll, smoothed it down and twisted one end. Tip O'Gorman did not know what to make of him. Or rather he thought he knew too well, which frequently amounts to the same thing.