Just as he said these words, his assumed friend Peter Grey entered. He had come to congratulate Robert in the first instance, but when he had spoken of the enthusiastic partizanship of every one, he asked, “How soon can you get away, Robert, for your life is not worth a cent here.”
“I have made up my mind to stay here, Grey.”
“Let me tell you something—in fact, I came here specially to tell you; better get away tonight. Tomorrow there will be an attempt to arrest you for debt.”
“Debt?”
“Yes, if that does not work, you will go out some day, and never come back.”
“I will go armed.”
“A pistol will not help you. Some rough in the crush of the North River Bridge, will push you into the black Illinois River, and you will not be seen again till the ice breaks up. Then it will be an accident. Such accidents happen too frequently to be all accidents, and there are plenty of men—among our low aliens, who would give you ‘the push’ for a dollar. If you stay here, you must not leave the house.”
Grey only voiced my own fears, and I seconded his advice as urgently as I could. Robert was unusually calm and answered, “It may be as you say, Grey, and I will go tomorrow night.”
“West, I suppose?”