“Poor ol’ Jim winged out there,” said the other voice. “Hadn’t we better get back to him?”

Billy consigned Jim to the pit, with full-bodied adjectives. “Jim can look after himself. We gotta find this John if it takes a month. Didn’t you hear what Larry said? We got to stop his mouth one way or the other. He’s got it on Larry⁠—which means the rest of us. I guess he’s got me taped anyway. He must have recognised me.”

“But, Billy, this is a dam fool’s game. He may be well away and getting help. We ought to make tracks. If he gets help⁠—”

“Aw⁠—shut up. You make me sick. Whatja think he’s going to do? Bring the village rozzer out by aeroplane, or what? There ain’t any police that he can get here for hours. Got an attack of the funks, ain’t you?”

“All the same I’m chuckin’ it,” returned the other, sullenly. “I’m goin’ to move out of this district swift and sharp and sudden. It won’t be none too healthy if they picket the roads. I guess Larry’ll agree. If you want to picnic in these woods you can do it on your own.”