all? What do you think I am?"

"I know what you are," said the sheriff. "You're a damned liar!"

"An amateur only," said Pringle modestly. "I never take money for it."
He put by a wisp of his frosted hair, the better to scrutinize, with
insulting slowness, the sheriff's savage face. "Your ears are very
large!" he murmured at last. "And red!"

The sheriff leaped up.

"You insolent cur-dog!" he roared.

"To stand and be still to the Birken'ead drill is a dam' tough bullet
to chew,'" quoted Pringle evenly. "But he done it--old Pringle--John
Wesley Pringle--liar and cur-dog too! We'll discuss the cur-dog later.
Now, about the liar. You're mighty certain, seems to me. Why? How do
you know I'm lying? For I am lying--I'll not deceive you. I'm lying;
you know I'm lying; I know that you know I'm lying: and you apprehend
clearly that I am aware that you are cognizant of the fact that I am
fully assured that you know I am lying. Just like that! What a very
peculiar set of happenstances! I am a nervous woman and this makes my
head go round!"

"The worst day's work you ever did for yourself," said the angry
sheriff, "was when you butted into this business."

"Yes, yes; go on. Was this to-day or yesterday--at the hotel?"

"Liar!" roared Lisner. "You never were at the Gadsden House."