Bob’s eyes blazed dangerously, but his voice was steady and cold as ice.
“That’s very evident,” he retorted curtly, with a swift side glance at the jam.
Schaeffer moved his shoulders slightly and his lids drooped a little. Otherwise he entirely ignored Bainbridge’s meaning.
“Yes, we got in a bit o’ trouble here,” he said coolly; “but it ain’t anything very serious. Now that the boys are all here to git after it, we’ll have her pullin’ in great shape before you can say Jack Robinson.”
Bainbridge took a single step forward, bringing his flushed and angry face close to Schaeffer.
“Don’t think for a minute you can bluff me with that sort of rot, Schaeffer,” he said, in a voice which held in it the essence of concentrated fury. “I’ve been standing here for ten minutes watching what’s going on out there. I never yet had a man who was fool enough to let a drive hang up at this bend unless he wanted to. Get me? I’m wise to everything, and the sooner you pack your duffle bag and beat it out of here the better it’ll be for you.”
Schaeffer’s face had turned a brick red, and his eyes were glittering dangerously. For a second Bainbridge thought the man meant to pour out a furious stream of profane abuse. Instead of that, however, he turned suddenly, and his gaze swept keenly over the throng of men, each one of who had become aware of the newcomer’s presence, and was watching the altercation with frank curiosity and interest.
“So I’m fired, am I?” inquired Schaeffer, in an oddly gentle voice, and without glancing at Bainbridge. “Fired without a chance to say a word in my own defense?”
“You are!” retorted Bob crisply. “As for saying anything in your own defense, you may as well save your breath. I haven’t the time or the inclination to listen to lies. You’ve played the traitor and been found out, and if anybody ever asks why I let you go they’ll get the truth—no more, no less.”
“That so?” murmured Schaeffer, idly moving a small pebble with the toe of his heavy, spiked shoe. “I wonder, now?”