“Not by a blamed sight!” grated Hodge. “I will stay here and defend these mines as long as I am able to lift a weapon.”
The Indian shook his head.
“Heap young, heap young,” he declared, as if speaking to himself. “Blood hot. Joe him know. Once him blood hot.”
“Well, you don’t suppose I’d let them drive me out, do you?” indignantly demanded Hodge. “You don’t think I’d betray Frank like that! He left me here in charge of the property, and here I will remain. I want you to stick by me, Joe.”
“Ugh!” grunted the old fellow noncommittally. “Mebbe not much difference to old Joe. I may croak pretty soon now. Mebbe only make it some quicker.”
“Perhaps that’s right,” said Hodge slowly. “I have no right to ask you to lose your life in helping me fight against overwhelming odds. It’s not your quarrel, Joe. You can do as you please.”
“Joe him think it over,” said the Indian. “No like to see Frank lose um mines, but him have plenty more.”
Bart turned away, not without a feeling of disappointment. As he did so, through the still open door he caught a glimpse of a man who was advancing toward the cabin. Instantly he strode toward the door, and his eyes rested on Texas Bland, who was several rods away.
“Oh, Mr. Hodge!” Bland called at once. “I want yer ter come over yon. The men has quit work, and they refuse to strike another stroke.”
Trying to repress and conceal his indignation, Bart asked, as if wholly unsuspicious of the real situation: