“My Gawd!... Say, Lady, now lookit here! This here thing is loaded with dynamite, nitroglycerin, TNT, and mustard gas. The dum thing’s apt to go off right on the printin’ press and blow the whole shebang to smithereens. If I was to drop a page onto the floor--_whoof!_... Better think it over.” “I’ve thought it over.” “Um!... It’s funny what folks calls thinkin’ sometimes! Hain’t despondent, be ye?” “No. Why?” “’Cause, if ye be, and kind of want to shuffle off’n this mortal coil, you kin pick out easier ’n’ pleasanter ways of doin’ it. There’s layin’ down with your head on the railroad track, f’r instance.” “Are you afraid, Tubal?” “Bet your life,” said Tubal, unabashed. “Can’t say I git so much joy out of life that it makes me go around hollerin’ and singin’, but what there is of it I kind of like. When you’re dead you can’t chaw tobacker. Ruther chaw than twiddle a harp. Uh huh. Hain’t no printer’s ink to smell in heaven.” “But maybe you won’t go to heaven, Tubal.” “Bound to,” he said, gravely. “Got it all figgered out. Says suthin’ in the Bible about the Lord ’u’d rather herd in one sinner to heaven than ninety-nine righteous fellers, don’t it? Wa-al, I’m the sinner he was calc’latin’ on. When he goes to herd me in, I hain’t goin’ to put up no resistance whatever. Yas ’m I’m safe to pass them pearly gates on the run.” “Tubal, do you ever drink?” “Frequent--but not too frequent.” “Where do you get it?” “Um!... Now there’s a question, Lady. Now hain’t it? Want a feller to do me a favor like gittin’ liquor fer me in a dry and thirsty land, and then fer me to go ’n’ tattle on him? Uh-uh, Lady. Can’t be did.” “But you’re loyal to me, aren’t you, Tubal?” “Lady, seems like I’d come clost to lettin’ wild hosses tromple onto me fer you.” “Then why not help me when I’m trying to find out about this liquor business?” “Best help I kin give ye is to warn you to leave it alone. Churchill, he meddled with it.” “I’m going to find out who killed him.” “Lady, you’re runnin’ up a tree that’s bound to be struck by lightnin’.... Listen, there’s jest you ’n’ Simmy ’n’ that perfessor feller. Count us up--four. What chanct we got?” “Against whom, Tubal?” “The ones we hain’t got no chanct ag’in’,” he said noncommittally. “I dunno, Lady, and if I knowed I wouldn’t tell. Men that hain’t afraid to do away with a sheriff wouldn’t come to a sweat over disposin’ of a printer like me.” “It’s the business of a newspaper----” “To make a livin’ for the owners of it and to keep out of libel suits. Stick to that, Lady. Hain’t this sheet in a bad enough way without your tyin’ a rock to it and throwin’ it in the river?” “We’re wasting time,” said Carmel. “You’re bound and determined to print this here?” “I’ll print that if it’s the last act of my life.” “Wa-al, if that’s the way you feel.... Mebby it will be, mebby not, seems as though.” He walked to the door, and there turned. “I own a book of synonyms,” he said. “Yes, Tubal.”