"Thar ain't no doubt in my mind but the boys made a raft. Sam was sharp, and thar was lots of timber to do it."
"But that would only be going to death," said Mr. Willett faintly and slowly.
"Oh, not by a long odds. Thar's lots and lots of places lower down whar they might get out easy. Now, let's jest have patience; thar ain't nothin' like a good stock of patience. Why, it wouldn't s'prise me not a bit if I was to see Sam and the hull caboodle of 'em walk into the door of this dugout this blessed minute," and Hank fixed his eyes steadily on the opening, as if he were quite prepared for this phenomenon.
Leaving Hank Tims to fan the faint ray of hope he had kindled in the afflicted father's heart, let us give a few minutes to reporting the conduct of the two men who were the authors of all this trouble.
There were some very bad men at Hurley's Gulch, as there are bad men in any gathering the world over, but in justice it should be said that a majority aimed to do as near right as they knew how.
Men's ideas of right and wrong vary with their training and their natural abilities to weigh evidence and comprehend truth. But even those men who are rude in their bearing, or even vicious in their lives, have their hearts touched by a death that brings great sorrow to some fond, loving heart.
So when the people at Hurley's Gulch began to think over Mr. Willett's loss, they forgot for the time the grave offence with which he was charged, and expressed themselves as very sorry for the death of his boy.
This change of feeling did not escape the ever wide-awake observation of Frank Shirley.
He was a pretty good judge of human nature, and so he thought it wiser not to say anything at this time. Indeed, he played his part so well that he expressed to the crowd, whom he kept attached to him by frequent treating, that he was very sorry for young Sam Willett's loss.
"He was a cousin of mine," sighed Shirley, "and not a bit like his father."