“I’m trying to help a fellow who doesn’t seem to have a friend in the world,” was the answer. “If that’s what you call ‘hooking up’ with a crook, Pink, I guess you’ve nicked it.”
“It was a foolish move,” began Clancy, “and I didn’t think——”
“It’s my move, Clan,” interrupted Merry, “so you needn’t sob your head off about it. Your fingers won’t be burned if the move’s a bad one.”
Nothing more was said, and the ride to the corral was finished in an atmosphere that was not particularly pleasant for anybody. When the horses had been taken care of, and the three chums started on foot for the hotel, Clancy’s loyalty to Merry got the better of his wrathful feelings.
“Oh, well, hang this Lenning business, anyhow!” he exclaimed. “You never go very far wrong, Chip, and if you think you’ve done right, why, that’s enough for me.”
“Same here,” said Ballard, but rather gloomily. “Whenever I think of Apache Point and that falling rock, I’m mad enough to fight. You’re generous to a fault, but it’s your own fault, and why the blazes should we take it out on you? But it’s still my private opinion that Lenning’s a skunk.”
“I’m not trying to change your opinion,” Merry laughed, “so you needn’t get your back up if I want to do a little reasoning for myself. Now, forget it.”
They did forget it, and by the time they reached the hotel they were laughing and jollying each other in their usual fashion. Blunt was sitting on the veranda, when they arrived, and his burst of indignation had also subsided.
“You’re one too many for me, Chip,” he remarked, shaking his head in a puzzled way, “but I’m not the one to jump on you for making friends with a rattler. If the varmint makes a strike at you, though, I reckon I’ll show my hand quick.”
What Frank had done for Lenning was no longer discussed. The lads got together on the less dangerous and more interesting ground of the canoe race in the gulch, and talked it over until the hotel Chinaman came out in front and pounded the supper gong.