“I’m getting to that. The Jew, Abe Isaacs, is at the hotel. I tarried there just long enough to see him in the office and to find out that you were at the jail. I think the Jew better be here with us while the case is tried.” “This case ain’t goin’ to be tried,” cried the sheriff, “till it comes up in the regular way.” “Who’s he, Pard Cody?” asked Wild Bill, nodding toward Bloom. “He’s the sheriff,” answered the scout. “Oh, is that all? Can’t he be quiet till he’s spoken to? You’re the judge, Buffalo Bill, and the parson is the jury. I’m attorney for the defense, and the sheriff can be attorney for the prosecution, if he wants to. Who’s going after Isaacs--the judge or the jury?” “The jury had better go,” laughed Jordan; “the judge has to keep an eye on the attorney for the prosecution. I’ll be back before many minutes have passed.” The sky pilot left the jail. “I’ve stood for this foolishness about as long as I’m a-going to,” snarled Bloom. “Give me that gun, Buffalo Bill, and clear out o’ here.” “Not till after the trial,” was the cool reply. “Calm down, Bloom. Don’t get rantankerous. I’ve got a Long Tom and two sixes, and Pard Hickok has a pair of forty-fives. Just reflect on the amount of lead we could throw at one broadside, and take things as you find them.” “Has the sheriff got an ax to grind, Pard Cody,” asked Wild Bill, “or is he just naturally ugly?” “A little of both, I reckon.” “You fellers can’t ride roughshod over the law o’ this State,” cried Bloom. “We’ll ride roughshod over you,” flung back Wild Bill, “if you give us any more of your back talk. What I’ve gone through to-night hasn’t sweetened my temper any.” “Have you found out something that proves I’m not a thief?” asked Nate. “I’m next to a whole lote, Nate, that maybe you never dreamed about,” said Wild Bill. “But wait till the case comes to trial; wait till---- Ah, the parson and the Hebrew! Here’s where we get busy.” It seemed evident that Isaacs had not come willingly to the jail. The sky pilot had an arm hooked through his and was half dragging him along. From one of the Jew’s hands swung his always-present satchel. Isaacs’ face was an ashen hue under the lamplight, and with his free hand he pulled nervously at his long beard. “Here’s Mr. Isaacs, Buffalo Bill,” announced the sky pilot, pushing his companion forward. “Don’t be scared, Isaacs,” said Wild Bill, getting up from the bench, “you’re only a witness. Sit down.” “Chentlemen,” quavered the Jew, sinking down on the bench, “vat is der meaning of dis?” “You’ll know in a little while,” answered Wild Bill. “If the attorney for the prosecution--or persecution--will state his case, I’ll come back at him with a handful of cold facts. Go on, Bloom.” “You fellers’ll not make a fool o’ me,” growled the sheriff. “Just get done with your play and mosey out o’ here. That’s all I want o’ you.”