“That suits me,” and Frank left the veranda and started south with Lenning, through the ragged outskirts of the town.
Lenning did not travel the main street, but avoided it, finally leading Frank out on the trail to the mine by a roundabout course. A short mile lay between the settlement and the Ophir “workings,” and Lenning did not speak until the last house in the town had been left behind. If he had much to say, Frank thought, he would have to talk fast if he got through before they reached the mine.
But Lenning did not propose to walk while he was easing his mind. He found a place at the trailside where they could sit down, and after they had made themselves comfortable, he began:
“I reckon you think I had a good deal of nerve to drag you into this,” said he, “but I knew if you wouldn’t give me a good word no one else would, and the jig would be up. I’m obliged to you. I hadn’t a notion you’d help me, but I took the only chance I had. You’ve acted white, and I want you to know that I appreciate it and that I’m going to make good—if it’s possible.”
“I don’t know why it isn’t possible,” said Merriwell, “so long as you keep away from Shoup.”
A scowl crossed the other’s haggard face. Instinctively his hand went to the back of his head, where the paddle had left its mark.
“You can bet all you’re worth I’ll keep away from that crazy dub. He had a lot to do with getting me into trouble. The responsibility isn’t all his, by a long shot, for I was born with an inclination to be crooked—and you can’t get away from what’s bred in the bone.”
“Who pounded that into you, Lenning? Was it Shoup?”
“I don’t know. He was always harping on that idea, and maybe I got a little of it from him.”
“Well, it’s the wrong idea, I don’t care where you got it. Cut it out. Don’t hamper yourself with any such foolishness. You’ve got a hard fight on your hands, and if you go into it without any confidence in yourself, you’re going to lose out.”