Washburn, who was under the skirt of a saddle unbuckling a girth,
glanced at Westerfelt in surprise as he lifted the saddle from the
horse and carried it into the stable. The two moonshiners exchanged
quick glances and sullenly muttered something to each other.
Westerfelt, intent on getting the business over that he might go to
bed, failed to observe these proceedings. When the officers had taken
their prisoners on towards the jail, Washburn, who, with a lantern, was
putting the horses into stalls, turned to Westerfelt.

"My Lord! Mr. Westerfelt," he said, "I hope you didn't give them
fellers away."

"Never dreamt of such a thing. What do you mean?"

"I 'lowed you had by what that feller said just now."

"What did he say?"

"Why, he said they'd ketched the men right whar you left 'em, an'--"

"Well, what of that?" Westerfelt spoke impatiently. "I did pass the
whiskey wagon. The revenue men asked me if I'd seen them, and I simply
refused to answer. They didn't get anything out of me."

"That's just what I'd 'a' done, but I wish you'd 'a' set yorese'f right
jest now, fer them fellers certainly think you give 'em away, an'
they'll tell the gang about it."

"Well, I didn't, so what does it matter?"