"The scoundrel!" he hissed to Browning. "What is he driving at? Does he mean that Merry hasn't given him a fair deal, or that he had the gun explode in some way to keep from being tied by him, or beaten? Perhaps he is hinting crooked work against me! If he does, I'll punch his head, sure. Frank is a fool to stand such stuff."
Merriwell showed a slight trace of annoyance. He took Badger by the arm and they walked aside together. A dozen men were examining the gun, and a score more were craning their necks to get a look at it, while all sorts of excited conjectures and comments filled the air.
"See here, Badger," said Merriwell, somewhat sternly. "You think Hodge may be responsible for that accident. He isn't—no more than I am! You either had mud in the gun——"
"Or something was the matter with the shells!"
"Exactly. That is what I was going to say, if you had let me finish the sentence. No more shells will be used out of that box. They may have been tampered with, but not by Hodge. I know Hodge! He wouldn't do such a thing."
"I reckon that he is none too good for that, if he had a chance!"
"Hodge is my friend."
"I don't care if he is your friend a dozen times over. That might have killed me, or crippled me for life!"
"If those shells were tampered with, it was done for my benefit, Badger, and not for yours. Hodge wouldn't put in shells that would endanger me. I gave you those shells out of my own box."
"And Hodge was talking to you, and knew what you meant to do. He could have juggled a fixed-up shell on you."